


I will not say the Day is done

by anwise_gamgee



Series: I will not say the Day is done [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Healing, Hobbits, Hurt/Comfort, Lost Love, M/M, Male Slash, Mental Health Issues, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23597212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anwise_gamgee/pseuds/anwise_gamgee
Summary: Samwise Gamgee has returned alone from his dangerous trip to Mordor. Back in the Shire, he is constantly urged by the other Hobbits to settle all sorts of affairs. On day, he is called to identify a mysterious prisoner.What if the grief of the last three years could finally come to an end?
Relationships: Frodo Baggins & Sam Gamgee, Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Series: I will not say the Day is done [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900984
Comments: 109
Kudos: 194





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YamBits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamBits/gifts), [objectlesson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/gifts), [MiaBarkley](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=MiaBarkley), [Athoriaal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athoriaal/gifts), [mollyknox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollyknox/gifts).
  * A translation of [I will not say the Day is done](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23039131) by [anwise_gamgee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anwise_gamgee/pseuds/anwise_gamgee). 



The room was small and poorly lit. It had only one window, which was blocked by a shutter and which let in a few late morning rays. When he entered, Samwise had expected to find several Hobbits posted around the prisoner, but there was only one and somewhat idle guard who did not seem to pay much attention to the cell in front of which he was sitting lazily.

Olo Bunce, the Shiriff of Hobbiton, closed the door behind Sam.

‘We found him this morning near Bywater’, he told Sam. ‘We think he's an orc or something. But he's not like the ones we usually come across around here. Otherwise our archers would have taken care of him.’

‘And you need me for?’ asked the Hobbit as he approached with measured steps the bars behind which a shape was cowering.

‘To tell us what it is, for a start. And then to advise us what to do with it, if you will.’

Ever since he had returned from his adventure and cleaned up the Shire from Saruman and his henchmen, Samwise Gamgee was constantly called for by the townsfolk for business that had to do with the "big world," as they put it. Sam was quite tired of it. He would have preferred that Merry or Pippin had taken care of such matters: they had seen great battles, and they had been the ones who had got rid of the invaders when they had returned. But they lived far away, had their own responsibilities, and it would have been unfair to ask them for more.

Besides, Sam was the master of Bag End now. It was an honour he had first stubbornly refused. When he had finally agreed to move there, he had taken no joy or pride in it. He lived at Bag End out of duty, to manage the affairs of the Bagginses. This responsibility was a burden he had taken on, and was still taking on every day, since he had returned from Mordor without the real master of the place, Frodo Baggins.  
The wound was still there, gaping, three years after he had walked through Shelob’s lair. Three years after he had seen his master fall and be taken away by the orcs. Three years after the frantic race that had led him to the top of Frodo's desperately empty tower. He didn't want to think about it now.

Samwise looked at the creature that was crammed into the small, dimly lit cell. It had long, dirty hair that fell to his shoulders in a curtain of dark strands and wore torn and disgusting rags. From where he was, Sam could make out a thin, white-skinned form, a creature that reeked of disease.

‘Did he say anything?’ he asked the Hobbit guarding the cell.

‘Nothing intelligible, no. One of the guys thinks it's a beast like that Gollum Mr. Bilbo used to talk about. But it can't be, can it?’

Sam shuddered at that name. It was impossible. He had seen Gollum die with his very eyes: he had taken the Ring, just as Sam was about to cast it into the Crack of Doom. A miserable death it was, no more than he deserved after leading Sam and his master into the deadly tunnel. The traitor had seized his precious and immediately slipped and fallen into the flames.

‘It can't be him. And as far as I know, there's no other like him.’

‘Then what is it?’

‘To answer that, I'd have to get closer. Has he been aggressive to you?’

‘No, not really. He was half unconscious when we found him. And when we brought him in, he put up a bit of a struggle, but we subdued him easily.’

Sam considered what the guard had just told him. This poor creature deserved their pity, not their distrust.

‘Try and feed him,’ he said. ‘I'm going to get the healer and some plants that can help him get back on his feet. If he's not threatening, we just need to help him recover and get him out of the Shire.’

At these words, there was a groan from the cell. Sam looked inside but could not tell if the creature had understood what he had just said or if it was a mere coincidence.

‘I'll be back in the afternoon to help treat him. Also, get a pail of water; if we can clean him up a bit we won’t be sorry for it.’

Without another word, Sam turned around and left the Shiriff's station. Outside, the fresh air made him feel better. He realised he was shaking and tried to relieve the tension in his back. Something about that creature made him sick. It reminded him of his adventures and of how he was still mourning for his master. But strangely enough, he felt responsible for the fate of that poor thing. He made a quick stop in Bag End to gather athelas, went to the Green Dragon to eat a soup before running off to find the healer. Violet Grubbs was a distant cousin of the former healer, still very young and recently arrived in Hobbiton to take over the widow's business. She was well liked by all and Sam knew he could count on her to treat even the most repulsive of visitors. He explained the situation to her in a few words and the young Hobbit-lass grabbed her heavy satchel and followed Sam to the Shirrif's house. Ever since he had returned, the Hobbits of Hobbiton had started addressing Sam as an important person, with a mixture of awe and admiration. It had become unusual that he was simply offered a pint or a meal to share in friendly company. Everyone seemed to be looking for an excuse to talk to him, as if his time could no longer be spent in idle business. He knew that he was far less cheerful nowadays than he had been in the past, but he was still saddened by this state of things.  
Violet, who hadn't known him before her adventure, seemed to fit in perfectly with this more taciturn version of Sam. Not very talkative herself, she didn't bother to make excuses to initiate conversation with him and didn't seem afraid to bother him when she needed to ask something of him. Sam was glad to work with her on the case of that strange visitor.

As the healer and Sam were leaving the path leading to the market to go to the Sheriff's office, they ran into Rosie Cotton. The young Hobbit-lass was on her way to her parents' farm, carrying a basket full of plums. She smiled when she saw Sam and frowned very slightly when she noticed that he was walking with Violet.

‘Sam!’ she greeted him with an enthusiasm that seemed exaggerated. ‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’

She nodded to the other Hobbit-lass with her satchel.

‘There's someone to be treated at the Shirrif’s,' replied Sam, a little embarrassed by his fiancée's lack of politeness towards the healer.

‘I won't slow you down then,’ said Rosie with another smile. ‘See you later!’

And, dropping a kiss on Sam's cheek, she went on her way.

Sam was amazed at how relieved he felt when she walked away. Just as it had taken him over a year to agree to move into Bag End after his return, Sam had done everything he could to delay his engagement to the young Hobbit-lass. When he had been unable to postpone it anymore, he had found excuses for not setting a wedding date. He felt too empty, too weary, but his family and Rosie's (and probably half of Hobbiton) had been so pressing that he had not had the heart to refuse. Poor Rosie had been waiting a year to know when she would marry the village hero. But Sam always had a good reason for not being ready for the wedding. His new responsibilities were a good excuse and a shelter: when he worked, he was at peace, no one asked him to pretend to be proud, to be a hero, to be happy. Marrying Rosie seemed a good idea, the simplest and most natural thing. But he feared that it would never be enough to fill the crack that had formed in his soul ever since that day of March when his master had fallen before his eyes and been taken away from him.

When they entered the room where the prisoner's cell was, Sam was again struck by the smell that came from the creature. More than disgust, it filled him with dread. How could anyone live like that?

‘We're going into the cell, Violet and I,’ Sam said in a loud voice so that the creature could hear. ‘My name is Sam, and I mean you no harm. We're going to heal you.’

The creature began to sob and Violet gave Sam a look of pity. She nodded and squared her shoulders: she was ready to enter.

The guard turned a key in the lock and Sam gently pushed the metal door open. It creaked on its hinges. Violet followed him inside and they moved slowly, each to one side of the cell. Olo had turned on some extra lights and Sam could see the shape of the creature better as it pressed against the wall. He was close enough to touch it.

‘We're going to heal you,’ he repeated in a softer voice. ‘Do you understand what I'm saying?’

The creature hid his face in his hands and shook his head vigorously.

‘It hasn't eaten anything,’ Violet remarked as she walked by the food plate lying on the floor.

‘Don't come any closer yet, Miss Violet,’ Sam ordered in a quiet voice. ‘We mustn't frighten him.’

The Hobbit-lass stood still and waited.

Sam squatted down and stepped a little closer. He reached out his hand to put it on the creature's shoulder, but he trembled violently and shirked from Sam’s touch.

‘It's okay, I'm not touching you,’ Sam said softly.

As he spoke, he noticed that the creature's movement had exposed a great part of his left shoulder. It was pale and scrawny, and several wound marks marred the skin. But one mark, deeper than the others, caught his attention. At the junction of the chest and shoulder, disappearing almost entirely under the rags, Sam recognised what must have been a scar from a blade wound. A doubt filled his mind. Then, a certainty. A cold sweat ran through his entire body. He looked at the hands pressed against the creature's face, long, thin, with dirty, bitten nails. He searched through the strands of dirty hair and felt his heart leap in his throat when he discovered the tip of a pointed ear. For the first time he observed the bare feet, thin and covered with sparse hair.

Leaping to his feet, he turned to Violet and said in a weak voice:

‘Get out of here.’

‘But, Sam...'

‘Get out of here, all of you!’ he repeated in a loud voice.

No one dared question his order and the guard, Olo and Violet left the room. Sam came out of the cell and made sure the door to the small room was locked. He turned to the bars behind which the creature was still curled up. He wanted to take a few steps in its direction but, overwhelmed by the emotions rising inside of him, he fell to his knees in front of the metal door. He barely grabbed a bucket that had been placed in front of the cell before he threw up his lunch.

With his stomach empty and his cheeks dripping with tears, Sam struggled to get up. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and stood up.

‘I'm going inside the cell,’ he said in a quivering voice. ‘I'm going to…'

He interrupted himself and looked around the room. He saw a blanket lying on a small bench near the door and grabbed it.

‘I'm going to get you out of here. And I'm going to fix you. And then, maybe one day you'll forgive me. But that doesn't matter. First, you have to be cured. I'm going in.’

In the cell, the shape on the floor tried to shrink on itself even more. Taking resolute steps in spite of his shaky hands, Sam approached and squatted down. He wrapped the blanket around the shivering body, whispering words of appeasement, like he was trying to reassure a child or a frightened animal. Very gently, he moved his hands away from his face and pushed the strands ofdirty hair back. The other let him, frozen. Sam recognised him for good, as he should have recognised him immediately, as the others should have recognised him when they had found him.

His features, distorted by fear, suffering, and years of deprivation, were still the same. A long, straight nose, a delicate chin, and, most of all, eyes so piercingly blue that they hurt to look at. His skinny-state had pushed them into their sockets, but Sam let out a sob of relief and despair when finally, after so many years, he met the gaze of Frodo Baggins.


	2. The Gaffer

‘I'm going to heal you,’ said Sam as tears were streaming down his cheeks again. ‘Let me take you with me.’

As he lifted Frodo from the ground, he was horrified to find him almost as light as a child. Frodo protested weakly and wiggled in Sam's arms. Sam hugged him a little tighter.

‘I'm sorry, I'm so ashamed... I should have…’

He interrupted himself. This was no time to think about what he should have done three years earlier.

‘It's going to be all right, Mr. Frodo,’ Sam whispered, ‘I'm going to get you back on your feet. Come on.’

And pushing the door, he covered more of Frodo's face to protect him from the curious looks Olo and the others gave him.

‘Sam,’ Violet asked, ‘where are you going with the patient?’

‘You're out of your mind!’ exclaimed the Shirrif, ‘He's our prisoner!'

‘You called me and I came to help you. I'll take care of him. That's all you need to know.’

And without another word, Sam left the Shirrif's office. Against him, Frodo lay very still. Sam could feel his breath in his neck. He could not help but smile with emotion. Frodo was there, alive, in his arms... He felt terrible for not recognising him right away, but how could he have imagined he was alive? How could he have believed that this weak and sick creature was his Mr. Frodo?

But it was only a matter of time before he was himself again, Sam would make sure of it.

His footsteps led him faster than he would have thought to the gate of number 3, New Row. On the little bench near the gate, Hamfast Gamgee was sitting and smoking his pipe. When he saw his son come up the row, his face and eyes turned red with crying and effort, he stood up, looking worried.

‘Sam! What's the matter, boy?’

Then, noticing the package in Sam's arms:

‘Is anyone hurt?’

‘Please let me in, I'll explain.’

Without hesitation, the old Hobbit opened the small round door and let his son and his strange burden enter the hole. Sam did not hesitate and took the direction of the parlour. There he carefully placed Frodo in his father's armchair, the most comfortable in the house and closest to the fire. Frodo lay back, his eyes closed and head heavy.

‘Sam,’ began Hamfast, who had followed him inside. ‘Who is this poor fellow? Why do you bring him here?’

‘Pa, you must swear not to tell anyone.’

‘But…'

‘Swear it!’

‘First you will explain this to me, son.’

Hamfast folded his arms on his chest. It was as if both Gamgees refused to be the less stubborn. Sam finally gave in, too upset to be more headstrong than his father.

‘He's come back,’ he said as the sobs rose in his voice again. 'I know you don't recognise him, but that's him. Frodo.’

‘What do you mean? Him? Frodo? Come on, Sam, you can't be serious…'

‘Da, you gotta believe me. I know it's crazy, I don't understand it myself, but…'

As he spoke, Hamfast approached Frodo with cautious steps. Slowly, very slowly, he pushed away the dirty locks that were falling on his face. Frodo opened his eyes, and Hamfast laid a wrinkled, calloused hand on his pale cheek. He plunged his gaze into the patient's and the two stared at each other for a long time.

‘Oh, what happened to you?’ he murmured as a gleam of recognition lit up in his eyes. ‘But yes, my Sam is right. It is you, Mr. Frodo. Oh, my poor boy…’

A tear rolled down Frodo's cheek and he closed his eyes again.

From that moment on, Hamfast seemed to take charge. He ordered his son to go and boil some water, and left Frodo on his armchair, asleep by the fire. Meanwhile, he prepared a bed in the little room that was sometimes used when one of his children came to visit him. Sam, reluctant to leave Frodo alone, obeyed.  
The world had just flipped upside down. His head was spinning horribly, but he had to keep his wits about him. Frodo was there, alive, in the next room, and he needed him. Sam filled a large pot with water and hung it over the fire to boil. It would have been more convenient to take Frodo back to Bag End where the rooms were comfortable and where there was a real bathroom. But carrying the mysterious prisoner up there would have attracted attention, and Sam didn't want that. Mr. Frodo needed discretion to recover, and he probably wouldn't want to be seen like that. A story would have to be made up to keep the Shirrif and his men from connecting the mysterious creature to Frodo Baggins' return. He would have to see to all that later.

Sam fetched the tub his father used for washing and placed it in front of the fireplace. As he went back and forth between the kitchen and the living room to fill the little wooden tub with a bucket, Hamfast came out of the bedroom.

‘Ah, you found the tub, good, very good. How's Mr Frodo?’

Sam took one look at Frodo, who was drowsy, wrapped in the blanket.

‘He's resting, I think. Are you sure this is the priority, Da?’

‘As Mr. Bilbo used to say: there's nothing like a bath to get your strength back. Besides, this way we can inspect his wounds proper.’

As he spoke, Frodo opened his eyes and lifted up his head with difficulty.

‘Bilbo?’ he murmured in a voice so hoarse that Sam wasn't even sure he heard correctly.

‘It's all right, Mr. Frodo,’ he said, rushing to his feet. ‘Mr. Bilbo isn't here, but my Gaffer and I will take care of you. How about a good bath?’

Frodo looked at him then, but it was as if his eyes didn't see him. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. Finally, he let his head fall back and his gaze wandered into the flames.

The tub was filled with cold water which Sam mixed with the boiling water from the pot to adjust its temperature. Hamfast brought a large bar of soap and towels that he heated by the fireplace. But the most difficult part was still ahead.

‘Mr. Frodo,’ Sam whispered, leaning over his master's slim figure. ‘The Gaffer and I will help you clean yourself up a little, and see if you are hurt. Can you stand up?’

Frodo opened his eyes and shook his head. Hamfast sighed a little and began to undo the blanket that wrapped the Hobbit, but Frodo let out a high-pitched scream.

‘It's no good,’ he said, ‘if he won't let us do. Try and get his rags off him, boy, I'll close the shutters. We don't want to worry the neighbours.’

And as his father pulled shut the wooden panels and lit a few more lamps, Sam tried to undo Frodo's clothes. At first, he put up a lot of struggle, pushing Sam's hand away as Sam cried and begged. But soon Frodo found himself exhausted and let it happen.

‘Oh, Mr. Frodo, I don't want to force anything on you, but it is for your own good. You'll feel better afterwards, I promise you.’

Frodo, who was sprawling in the chair, didn't answer. Sam opened the blanket he had wrapped Frodo in and looked at the rags covering his master. Old orc scraps, so dirty that he didn’t know how to remove them properly. Sam put his hand on his belt and grabbed his little pocket knife.

‘Don't be afraid now, Mr. Frodo, and don't move. I wouldn't want to risk scratching you. I have to cut off those nasty rags you're wearing.’

But Frodo wasn't even looking at the blade. He didn't move when Sam carefully cut through the cloth made stiff with dirt. Sam felt his father approaching behind him, silently watching his son'scareful movements. Sam paused several times to wipe away his tear-filled eyes. Each patch of skin revealed was another stab in his heart. Frodo had never been very thick for a Hobbit, but now he was skeletal. His belly was hollow, his ribs protruding, his skin stretched so much over his bones it looked almost translucent. And on top of it all, Sam could see whip marks here and there, scratches that had never properly healed, or the trace of a badly mended cut.

When he was naked, Sam made him get up and Frodo obeyed, his legs shaking.

‘My father's going to take a better look at you, it won't take long. Then you can warm yourself up in the bath.’

While Sam supported Frodo at arm's length, Hamfast went around the master of Bag End and observed him carefully.

‘I don't see any open wounds or broken bones. Nothing that can be easily healed by you or me. Poor Mr. Frodo, he's got nasty whip marks on his back, no mistake. But as for the rest, we'll have to call Miss Grubbs.’

Sam barely contained his fury. He didn't know whether to direct it at himself or at those who had held the whip. The result was the same: Frodo was in bad shape. But alive... Pulling himself together, Sam gently led Frodo to the tub of hot water. He wanted to help him over the edge so that he could sit in it, but Frodo reared up abruptly.

‘Come on, Mr. Frodo, please, just a little effort. You always did love a bath. What was Mr. Bilbo's song again?’

‘ _Sing hey! for the bath at close of day’_ Hamfast began with his slightly rusty voice, _‘that washes the weary mud away!’_

 _‘A loon is he that will not sing,’_ sang Sam, joining his voice to his father’s. _‘O! Water Hot is a noble thing!  
O! Sweet is the sound of falling rain,   
and the brook that leaps from hill to plain;   
but better than rain or rippling streams   
is Water Hot that smokes and steams.   
O! Water cold we may pour at need   
down a thirsty throat and be glad indeed;   
but better is Beer if drink we lack,   
and Water Hot poured down the back.   
O! Water is fair that leaps on high   
in a fountain white beneath the sky;  
but never did fountain sound so sweet   
as splashing Hot Water with my feet!’_

While the Hobbits sang in a soft voice, as if not to frighten him, Frodo agreed to sit in the tub. Sam saw that tears had formed in his eyes, and he found it very hard not to cry himself.

With a delicate hand, he began to cleanse his master, rubbing soap on his skin and rinsing it off with a pitcher. For his hair, Hamfast brought a smaller bucket, which he placed outside the tub, behind Frodo's head. He was beginning to drowse. Sam noticed that something in his features had changed, as if the hot water had relaxed him. Or maybe it was the song?

‘I'm going to wet your hair and try to untangle it. Let me know if I'm hurting you.’ Sam announced soflty.

Frodo’s only answer was a hoarse sound. Listening, Sam realised he was humming to himself. He smiled.

Taking care of Frodo’s tangled mop was no easy task: it had to be rinsed five times before the water was clear. Then, using an oatmeal soap and a wooden comb, Sam untangled Frodo's locks one by one. When he was finished, he made two small braids and tied them behind his master's head, so that they held back the rest of his hair from falling into his face.

‘There, as handsome as an elf prince’ said Sam. ‘Come on, let’s get you to bed now, you'll catch a cold staying in that tub.’

Frodo had fallen asleep again. The Gaffer helped Sam get him out of the tub and wrapped him in a warm towel. During the bath, Hamfast had thrown the filthy clothes into the fire and put the old blanket away in the shed — it was too shabby to be used inside — and he had gone to fetch an old nightshirt from his son. After Sam had dried Frodo, the Gaffer and him dressed him in the shirt and Sam lifted Frodo up in his arms. As Sam held Frodo close to him, he was struck to recognise the distinctive scent of his master, still mixed with a faint hint of fever. He had hugged him so many times during their journey that he knew this fragrance by heart, this indescribable mixture of soap and musk, with a slight woody scent. More than any creature, Hobbits relied on their noses: it was no wonder Sam hadn’t recognised Frodo in the state he'd been found. He shuddered at the thought. Frodo smelled like himself now, he was going to be himself again, Sam would do what it took to make it so. He settled him in the little bed that Hamfast had prepared, half seated against a pile of pillows.

‘We must give him a drink,’ said the Gaffer. ‘He mustn't fall asleep like that, with nothing in his belly. I have a vegetable broth that I can heat up. But first, some water for him.’

‘I've got something better than that, Da,’ said Sam as he took the slightly faded athelas out of his pocket. ‘We're going to make him an infusion with this. And then I'll leave a bowl with hot water and some leaves in the room: that will surely soothe him.’

Hamfast nodded: he knew that his son had brought back some strange ideas about plants from his adventure, but he could trust Sam not to put Frodo in any danger using a weed or another.

Frodo made a face as Sam gently brought the athelas infusion to his lips.

‘It's bitter, I know. But it'll do you good. After this you have a delicious broth waiting for you. One last little effort and I'll leave you alone.’

Frodo finally agreed to take a few sips, almost choking at first. He drank half a cup of the herbal tea and then a few spoonfuls of broth. Feeling that he couldn't keep him awake any longer, Sam settled him more comfortably in the bed.

‘I'll blow out the candle if you don't mind, I've put a chamber pot at the foot of the bed. I'll help my Gaffer tidy up a bit in the living room, and then I'll come back and stay with you.’

Frodo didn't answer. He had already fallen asleep. Sam blew out the flame and gently closed the door behind him. He closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the silence. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He wondered if he would ever stop crying. Of joy, anger, guilt, the stream that ran from his eyelids was like a river that carried unspeakable emotions. So numerous and complex he could not really name them. He took a deep breath and wiped his face in his sleeve before joining his father in the parlour.


	3. The healer

‘You'll have to fetch Miss Grubbs,’ said the Gaffer in a tone that brook no contradiction. ‘Like it or not, Sam, you can't cure him on your own.’

‘I know, Da. I know there are some wounds you can't see from the outside. Maybe he's more than just emaciated and exhausted.’

His throat tightened, but Sam went on.

‘I want to stay with him, just like I should have three years ago.'

‘Eat something first. Then you can put a mattress by his bed if it makes you feel better.’

Hamfast Gamgee had understood many years before that it was useless to try and separate Sam from his Mr. Frodo. He had been the first surprised to see him come back without his master, and among the only ones not to question the eternal sorrow in which Sam had been plunged ever since. He had encouraged his son to court the Cotton lass, hoping that it would bring him some closure, but he had always known, deep down, that it wouldn't be enough. When Hamfast had recognised Frodo a few hours earlier, the shock of knowing he was alive and in such a bad state had quickly given way to a deep relief. At last, he was going to get his Sam back, at last he would no longer see his son wandering about like a wounded soul, his heart heavy with grief and guilt. Maybe he would finally marry Rosie, maybe he would be one and whole after all these years of being only half of himself.

As soon as the living room was cleared of their work, Sam quickly swallowed his soup down. He was about to get up to join Frodo when his father stopped him. Sam barely contained his annoyance but let the Gaffer say his piece.

‘Sam, I know you want to do what's best for Mister Frodo. I must warn you though, he may not want you to help him. Maybe he won't want anybody's help. What we did this afternoon... it was for his own good, but against his will. He might blame you for that.’

‘Just like he'll blame me for everything else,’ Sam said in a strangled voice. ‘But I have to go against his will to give him a chance to forgive me someday. I'd rather have him safe and sound and without love for me than live in a world where he's gone.’

‘Sam, my boy... you're being unreasonable. But you're a Gamgee, and I know there's no use reasoning with you when it's your heart talking. Well, anyway, since you've decided to be unhappy.’

‘I don't wanna be unhappy, Da. I just... I want him to be happy, with or without me to take care of him.’

‘And if he refuses your care, if he refuses to get better?’

‘I will call the King Elessar himself if I have to. But he will heal.’

Hamfast shook his head and just wished his son a good night. He may have been used to it, but his son's stubbornness when it came to Frodo had always made him feel helpless. It was like fighting a storm on your own: you could flap your arms around all you liked, it would never stop the rain from falling, the wind from howling, or the thunder from rumbling.

When Sam pushed open the door of the small room, his mattress rolled up under his arm, he tried and listened carefully to his master's breathing. It was irregular, rather weak, but reassuring nonetheless. Sam had tears in his eyes. He approached, his steps soft on the floor, and placed his straw mattress at the foot of Frodo's bed. He was right next to him and yet still too far away, so far away. He wanted to wrap him in his warmth, to soak him in his devotion and love. But it was too early for that. And how could he have pretended that it wasn't all his fault? If he had found Frodo when he searched the tower of Cirith Ungol, if he hadn't given up his search so quickly, if he hadn't given up hope... He had believed Frodo was dead, otherwise he would never have left him in the hands of the orcs. But he had sat there, had sung his song and had heard nothing but silence. He had waited, but there was nothing he could do. So he had gone back downstairs and walked. The Ring had spoken to him, had tried to corrupt him, but how could it corrupt an empty shell? What hope did he have that the Ring could have exploited to its advantage?

And yet... It had whispered to Sam that Frodo could be returned to him, if only he would slip the Ring on his finger, if only he would claim it for himself, he would have had the power to bring him back. But Sam had not believed it. He hadn't heard, then, what the Ring meant. Frodo was still alive, and the Ring knew it, and Sam hadn't listened to it. For everyone's sake, he had ignored what his heart was burning to hear, what the Ring wanted him to believe, and which in the end was only the truth.

It was too much for Sam: the regrets, the grief of the last three years, the doubts... everything was blending into him, overflowing in a wave of sobs that he tried to smother under his coarse wool blanket. He finally fell asleep like this, lulled by his own tears and the soft breathing of Frodo close by.

Sam woke up with a start. It took him a few split seconds to remember where he was, why he was on the floor, and to recognise who had screamed.

‘Frodo!’ he cried as he rushed to his master's bedside. ‘Mr. Frodo, I'm here!’

In the darkness of the small room, Sam could make out Frodo's wide open eyes, and he could see him writhing in his bed, as if trying to avoid a blow. He moaned and put his hands over his ears. To chase away the shadows, Sam lit a candle on the bedside table, slipped next to Frodo under the covers and took him in his arms, hugging him and rocking him tenderly.

‘Calm down, Mr. Frodo,' he reassured him in a soft voice, ‘I'm here now, I'm here. You're in Hobbiton, at my Gaffer's house. You have nothing to fear. I am here.’

Frodo wiggled a little in Sam's arms before slowly relaxing.

‘There, you see, it's all right. I won't leave you again,’ Sam said, putting a kiss on the top of his head.

’S-Sam,’ Frodo croaked.

On hearing his name, Sam was again overwhelmed by a wave of conflicting emotions that seemed to pierce his chest. When he felt Frodo's arms weakly return his embrace, he could no longer contain his tears. Shaken with sobs, he continued to rock his master until he fell asleep against him.

When he woke up the next morning, Sam was not sure whether he had dreamt or not. How many times had he opened his eyes in the darkness of his room or in the darkness of the plains of Gorgoroth, hoping to find his sleeping master beside him? How many times had he imagined that his disappearance was just a nightmare that would fade away when he woke up? And today he was finally here. Alive and well, in his arms. For a while, Sam just lay there, relishing this unexpected happiness. He breathed in Frodo's hair, now clean and dry, and sighed... He was going to have to wake him up to make him eat a little, but he was reluctant to disturb him. Frodo needed to regain his strength.

Very gently, Sam pulled himself out of his master's weak embrace, got up and walked out of the room. He had slept in his clothes and would have liked to get rid of his worries by taking a good bath, but there was still too much to do. In the small kitchen at number 3, New Row, his father was already busy preparing breakfast.

‘Did you sleep well, my boy?’ asked Hamfast, stirring a pot of oatmeal.

‘I can't say... I feel like I've finally woken up from a long nightmare.’

Hamfast nodded silently.

‘I'm going to take care of Mr. Frodo this morning. Eat something, go wash up at Bag End, and come back with the Grubbs lass. And bring back some of your things, too. You and Mister Frodo are going to stay with me for a while. He'll be better off here than in a big smial where there's too much to do.’

‘All right, Da.’

Sam was relieved to hear his father take over operations in this way. How long had it been since he'd simply obeyed an order? For years, he had been the person people turned to for solving problems, managing complex situations, making decisions. Sam was thankful that he could rely on his father's common sense, so he could keep all his energy to take care of Frodo without having to worry about practical details.

After eating and washing and packing his things in Bag End, Sam walked briskly to the house of Violet Grubbs. He was turning over and over in his head what he would tell Violet to explain the situation, to ask her to be discreet, when someone called him.

‘Sam!’ came Rosie Cotton's voice, a little out of breath. ‘Where are you running off to again?’

Caught off guard, Sam turned around but didn't know what to say.

‘I was at my cousin Lilly's house,’ she continued, as if to justify herself. ‘I saw you walk by through the window, and I went out. You're not going on a trip again, are you?’

‘Not at all,’ Sam stuttered. ‘I'm going to stay with my dad for a few days.’

‘But he doesn't live that way.’

‘Ah, no... I have to go get Violet, Sam said blushing with his lie. Da's a little sick.’

‘Nothing serious, I hope!’ Rosie exclaimed, without managing to hide her annoyance completely.

‘Don't worry, I'll look after him.’

‘I'll come and visit him then…'

‘No!’ Sam said, interrupting her. ‘I mean... wait a few days, I wouldn't want you to get sick too.’

‘Okay, okay. You're not keeping secrets from me, Sam Gamgee? I know you get along with that Violet Grubbs. If you've got something to tell me, I'd just as soon you did it now,’ she added, putting her hands on her hips, looking sternly at him.

‘There's nothing at all with Violet! Not with anyone,’ said Sam, blushing once more.

‘I know you're too honest to lie to me,’ said Rosie with a kind smile. ‘But with the wedding long overdue, and all the pretenders you've had since you've been back, I'm entitled to wonder…’

He didn't like to think about it, but Rosie was telling the truth: since his return, and especially since he had officially inherited Bag End, Sam had been the subject of many solicitations from Hobbit-lasses admiring his qualities as a hero of the Shire. Only Rosie, whom he had known well since childhood, had seemed sincere in her attentions.

‘You have nothing to worry about. As for the wedding, you know I've got a lot of business to attend to now. You deserve a nice party, and I'd rather wait to give it to you.’

‘And that's very sweet of you, Sam. I won't keep you any longer. Feel free to come to me if you need extra hands to tend to the Gaffer!’

Sam thanked her and they parted ways.

He felt a twinge of sadness: she was a nice girl, brave and smart. It wasn't fair of him to keep her waiting like that. But with Frodo back, it was impossible to make the wedding his priority. Getting Frodo back on his feet was the only thing that mattered. He could never put anyone else ahead of him. Not after abandoning him to his fate as he had done, not after the last three years he'd spent with no hope of redemption. He could never make Frodo a second choice, because that was his duty. And for another reason he did not dare thinking about now. Or ever.

He had told Violet the same story he had told Rosie: his father was sick and she had to come and see him. So, when she was greeted by a healthy Hamfast, she cast a skeptical glance at Samwise. He gently closed the door behind him, and explained:

‘I'm sorry I lied to you, Miss Violet, but I couldn't take the risk of being heard telling you the truth. You must promise me to keep the secret of the patient you come here to see, and tell the nosy ones that it is my father who is ill.’

‘Don't give me too serious an illness,’ joked Hamfast, pulling his pipe out of his pocket, ‘we don’t want the village to worry.’

‘Does it have something to do with the Shirrif's prisoner? Olo Bunce was embarrassed when you left yesterday.’

‘Yes, and that's why you must keep it a secret. Well, you should come along and see for yourself.’

Sam led Violet to the small bedroom and stepped in quietly.

‘Mr. Frodo?’ he called out in a soft voice. ‘I'm back. I have Miss Violet Grubbs with me, she'll look after you, too.’

Violet gave Sam a puzzled look. She had, like all Hobbits in Hobbiton, heard the story of Sam's adventure, gone away with Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took and Frodo Baggins. She knew that only three of them had come back, and that this gentlehobbit Frodo, who lived in Bag End many years ago, had died...

She looked at the sleeping Hobbit: he was so thin that he looked lost in the middle of the tiny bed. Now that he was clean, it was clear that he was a Hobbit, but he was in a bad shape. Hiding her distress, she turned to Sam.

‘Did you notice any wounds, infections? Did he eat?’

‘When we bathed him last night we saw nothing to worry about,’ came the voice of the Gaffer behind them. ‘He drank some broth, some herbal tea that Sam made for him. And this morning I managed to get him to gulp down a few spoonfuls of oatmeal. Tired him right off, that did, so he went right back to sleep.’

Violet seemed to take note of all this information. She asked to open the window to let some fresh air in, and then wanted to be alone with the patient. Sam was reluctant, but he agreed. Before leaving the room, he went to take Frodo's hand and kissed it tenderly.

‘I'll leave you with Miss Violet for a while. She'll take good care of you.’

Then, turning to Violet:

‘If he's giving you a hard time or if you need help, you know where to find us.’

The young Hobbit-lass nodded and Sam and Hamfast left the room.

While the healer spent time with Frodo, Sam tried to keep himself busy as best as he could: he tidied and cleaned the kitchen, helped his father fix the chair that Hamfast liked to sit on in the evening to smoke his pipe, and prepared second breakfast for himself and their guest.  
When Violet came out of the room and joined them in the kitchen, Sam tried not to harass her with questions. He sat her down, served her tea and scones, and then couldn't hold his tongue any more.

‘How is he? Has he said anything to you?’

‘He's a little feverish, remnants of an illness. Probably something he ate or drank some time ago. But that shouldn't worry you. The most urgent thing is to put some flesh back on his bones. Broth and porridge are very good things to start with. In a little while he'll be able to eat something more substantial. It's a bit like with infants: his body has to learn again how to digest food.’

She paused to take a sip of tea and bite into a scone. With her mouth full, she continued:

‘His skin and muscles have been sorely tested... I'll leave a jar of ointment for you to rub on his back, arms and legs... wherever it will help. I'll make some more, this one will only last you a few days. Come see me the day after tomorrow, it should be ready.’

‘So he's going to be all right?’ asked Hamfast.

‘With time and proper care, I see no reason why he should not regain his Hobbit appearance and health. But for his talking, however, that is beyond my powers. I suppose spending time with you will help him.’

Her words made Sam dizzy. He wanted to rejoice in the idea that Frodo could be restored to his former shape. But he was worried that Frodo would never be able to speak again and live with his own. No, it was too early to give up hope.

‘There's just one thing that bothers me a little: he has a wound on his shoulder that seems deep, that has been healed, but it looks strange to me. We'll have to keep an eye on it, although I don't think it's hurting him at the moment.’

‘It's a wound he's had for almost four years,’ says Sam, without managing to hide his emotion. ‘It has been healed by elf lords. There's not much we can do about it.’

Violet nodded with interest: she probably would have liked to know more about Elvish medicine, but she refrained from asking more questions.

The healer finished her second breakfast with Sam and Hamfast and got up to leave. Sam walked her to the door, thanked her warmly and paid her her due, with a few coins in advance for the ointment he would pick up the next day.

‘Don't worry, Sam, I'm sure your Mr. Frodo will recover, he's in good hands. And I promise I won't say a word to anyone. Good day to you, sir.’

'That's very kind of you, Miss Violet, and good day to you too.’

When he closed the door behind her, Sam breathed a sigh of relief.


	4. The servant

Before long, the days all looked the same at Hamfast Gamgee’s: Sam spent them with Frodo, feeding him, washing him and giving him news of the Shire. The first time he applied the ointment on Frodo’s skin, Sam took a thousand precautions. He was distressed by Frodo's skinny figure and scared by the idea of hurting him with blunt fingers. But the soft pressure on the aching muscles seemed to do him good, and Sam gained confidence. He took great care of his feet, worn out by long days of walking. Frodo's calves and thighs, though sadly gaunt, had become hard as wood. Sam flattered him about it, trying to provoke a reaction from Frodo, even if just a smile.

But Frodo remained silent. When he wasn't dozing, he looked at Sam with a suspicious or calculating look on his face. The first time Sam had massaged his feet with the ointment, Frodo hadn't taken his eyes off him for a second, as if he was trying to figure out what the other Hobbit really wanted. Some days he would try to fight off Sam’s touch.

It broke Sam's heart, because Frodo might never forgive him for abandoning him, but more importantly, because his violent and terrified reactions told the whole story of what Frodo had gone through while he was away. The tortures inflicted by the orcs in the tower of Cirith Ungol, the hardships, the loneliness... Sam was unable to imagine all that he had experienced. How could he? If he had only suspected Frodo was alive and suffering such cruelty, he would never have agreed to come back to the Shire. He would have turned every stone in Mordor to find him. But the soldiers of Gondor who had gone in search of Frodo's remains had been positive: there was nothing left in Cirith Ungol. The tower had been destroyed, along with all of Sauron's dirty work. Sam had cried, shouted, begged, but to what end? To find a body? It wouldn't have brought Frodo back.  
But then, he'd made a mistake. The soldiers were wrong. Everybody was wrong. Frodo had survived; he must have managed to escape the tower before it collapsed. How, Sam wouldn't know until Frodo told the story, if he ever agreed to tell it, and if the words came back to him. All Sam could do in the meantime was help his master become himself again. So Sam would talk to him about trivial things, so as not to plunge him back into the darkness of Mordor that so often seemed to haunt his nightmares. Sometimes Frodo would utter a word, which he would often repeat after Sam had said it, as if he was testing for himself those strange sounds that were once so familiar to him. When Sam sang, Frodo would sometimes hum the tune with a muffled rumble. Little by little, the suspicious glow left Frodo's eyes. It was already something.

Five days after Violet's visit, Rosie showed up at the door. She was reassured to find the Gaffer in good shape and didn't seem to notice the awkward atmosphere in the hole. Sam was constantly preoccupied, and the few hours Rosie spent in their company he passed them with his eyes riveted to the door of the room behind which Frodo was resting. After tea, the young Hobbit-lass went away, having made sure that Hamfast needed nothing, and Sam wanted to rush to his master when his father stopped him.

‘Samwise,’ he said in a stern voice. ‘This cannot go on any longer. You're locked in here all day, you don't come out, and neither does Mr. Frodo! It's no good being locked up like this.’

‘But, Da…’

‘I know, I know, he's still too weak to run around, and too sick to been seen by anyone. Well, at least take him to the back yard. It'll be very quiet there, and these few steps will do him a world of good. You can't keep him in bed like that, it's not natural. A Hobbit needs to be on his feet.’

‘You're right, Da. I'll go see if he wants to get up.’

Sam entered the room where Frodo was sitting on the bed, looking out at the tiny window. When Sam called his name, he turned his head.

‘Mr. Frodo,’ Sam said again as he approached slowly, ‘how about going outside for a while? My father's right, you're going to make yourself sick by staying inside. Why don't you take a little walk in the garden, just to get some fresh air?’

To Sam's surprise, Frodo nodded his head in approval. He then looked at his hands with embarrassment, holding them out in front of him as if to observe them in detail, then pressed them to his cheeks and closed his eyes.

‘Monster’ he croaked in his worn-out voice.

Sam was startled and rushed to him.

‘What are you saying?’

‘I am... a monster.’

Sam's heart started to beat fast in his chest.

‘Don't talk nonsense now! No, Mr. Frodo! You're... If there's a monster here, it's me, and you know it.’

He took a breath, swallowing the tears that threatened to drown his words.

‘Come, you are the bravest Hobbit I know; surely my father's garden does not frighten you?’

Frodo looked up at him and the ghost of a smile passed over his face.

‘We'll cover you well. Can you walk?’

As an answer, Frodo nodded his head seriously. With his frail fingers, he grasped the blankets and pushed them back, then swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He put his feet on the floor and stood up. When he almost wavered, Sam put an arm around him for support, but let go as soon as he seemed more secure on his feet. It cost him to put an end to their contact, but he knew he shouldn't mollycoddle Frodo more than was necessary. Frodo had to regain his autonomy, Sam couldn't always be behind him.

He helped him put on a thick robe, wrapped a woollen scarf around his neck, and then guided him in small steps to the back garden door. Frodo walked carefully, as if to test the strength of his muscles. They met Hamfast in the corridor, and the old Hobbit graced Frodo with a respectful and cheerful greeting, as if this was a normal day, that he had simply come to Bag End to prune the roses and had met the young master as he was getting out of bed. Sam felt his heart swell with joy at the thought that one day it could be as simple as it had been…

Once in the small garden, Sam suggested that Frodo sit down, but Frodo wanted to go around the small vegetable patch. As a conscientious gardener, Sam proudly showed him his father's work: the potatoes were properly weeded, the leeks were all lined up in neat rows, and the peas were clinging nicely to their tutors…

‘And... Bag End?’ Frodo asked in his rocky voice.

‘Oh! Well, to tell you the truth, I've been pretty busy the last few days. I've neglected the Bag End gardens a bit, I’d be lying if I said otherwise. But they're doing well, you know! Would you like me to go and look after them more? I could bring you some tasty fruit from the orchard, and maybe some of your favourite flowers, too.’

‘No... stay with me,’ came the somewhat breathless answer.

‘Anything for you, Mr. Frodo,’ Sam said, taking his hand. ‘All you have to do is ask. Oh, but if you only knew how happy I am to hear you speak! I'll have to give you some thyme tea with honey for your throat.’

Frodo looked down and didn't answer. He went to sit on the little bench near the door that led into the hole, and Sam followed him. When Sam sat down beside him, Frodo surprised him again by coming and curling up against him, laying his head on his shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist.

‘You keep telling me about the people here,’ Frodo said, breathing into his neck. ‘What about you? What news of you?’

This question and Frodo's sudden closeness made Sam blush fiercely. What news of him? What could he say? What could he say about himself that wouldn't hurt his master?

‘Well... I've been taking care of Bag End for some time. I'm trying to do the best I can. I had no desire to live there, you know, but who knows what your house would have become... Oh, Mr. Frodo, if only you knew how glad I am that you can come back and live there!’ Sam finally said, sobbing. ‘I never dared hope I could give it back to you one day!’

Sam let his tears flow for a while. He felt a gentle stroke on his back and found the courage to dry up his eyes. It wasn't Frodo's place to console him.

‘I've been doing what I can since my return, to live with my grief... so here I am, taking care of Bag End. And then there's all this business in Hobbiton that everyone keeps asking me to take care of, as if I knew something about it. Well, there too, I manage. And soon I'm going to have to get married.’

He sighed. Frodo stepped away from him slowly and gave him an indecipherable look.

‘But now that you're here, I may be able to live as I did before, or at least not as I have for the last three years. I'll be able to take care of you, work for you, in Bag End,’ Sam said, taking his hand, his eyes shining with hope. ‘Would you like that?’

Frodo seemed to hesitate for a moment and then nodded, the shadow of a smile on his lips.

‘If only you knew how happy I am!’ said Sam. ‘Do you want to walk again?’

Frodo said ‘no’ with his head and kept on sitting with Sam's hand in his. He closed his eyes as if to enjoy the air for a moment longer.

The tranquillity of the moment was shattered when Hamfast joined them in the garden a few minutes later.

‘I’ve just finished preparing dinner,’ he announced. ‘Mutton stew with herbs. If you feel like sharing it with us, Mr. Frodo…’

Frodo gave him an incredulous look.

‘I'm not... presentable,’ he whispered in a broken voice.

‘Nonsense!’ exclaimed the old Hobbit, who did not seem surprised to hear Frodo speak.

‘Would you like to put on something more suitable for dinner, sir?’ asked Sam in a soft voice. ‘You must be tired of wearing this old nightshirt.’

Frodo nodded and Sam walked him to the small bedroom. While packing his bags in Bag End, he had retrieved some clothes that had once belonged to Frodo, old things that Sharku hadn't damaged when he had occupied the smial. Frodo took off his robe and let Sam help him remove the nightshirt. Sam took this opportunity to inspect his master's body, to see how it had changed since he and the Gaffer had bathed him on the first day.  
Although they were both used to being naked in front of each other, the Hobbits suddenly seemed shy. Sam caught a very slight blush on Frodo's cheeks as his gaze swept over Frodo’s limbs. This made him blush in turn. He rejoiced, however, to see some colour on his master's face, which was otherwise too pale. He hadn't really gained weight yet, but Sam was reassured to see that his bones seemed less protruding in some places. There was still a long way to go before Frodo regained his former shape, but Sam was convinced he would make it.

He helped Frodo put on a pair of corduroy pants, a slightly yellowed shirt over which Sam attached suspenders, and a navy blue embroidered jacket with a slightly unstitched pocket.

‘It's not ideal,’ said Sam as he contemplated his work, ‘but most of your stuff is still in Crickhollow. I'll probably have to go and get them... In the meantime, I'll mend what I can. But you're still presentable for dinner. Although my Gaffer’s table is quite modest, mind you.’

‘Thank you,’ Frodo replied simply in his hoarse voice.

Hamfast gave up his seat at the table — the one closest to the fireplace — to Frodo. He served him a small portion of stew and the best piece of bread. It was obvious that giving such a small portion to the master of Bag End was a real dilemma for Hamfast Gamgee, but the healer had insisted that he should not strain his stomach. His appetite would come back to him naturally, with a little patience. Frodo thanked the Gaffer with a nod and waited for everyone to be served before grasping his spoon between clumsy fingers. While the two gardeners had started to eat, gulping down their stew in confident spoonfuls, Frodo could barely bring his own spoon to his lips. When, after the third bite, he dropped the cutlery onto his lap, splashing stew on his jacket, Sam saw tears of frustration and shame form in his eyes.

‘Come on, it's nothing,’ he said as he moved his chair closer to his master's. ‘You just have to get used to it again, that's all.’

Sam wiped up the mess as best he could, picked up the spoon and asked:

‘Would you like to eat some more?’

Frodo nodded his head.

‘Well, here, take your spoon, I'll guide your hand. Maybe this way your arm will remember the gesture.’

And Sam did as he said, gently supporting the hand that held the spoon, respecting the time Frodo needed to chew, swallow, and catch his breath between each bite. Soon there was almost nothing left on the plate.  
On the other side of the table, Hamfast watched his son, thoughtful.


	5. The visitors

The following days, Sam devoted himself to helping Frodo regain a Hobbit’s everyday life movements. He had done too much for him, he had to help him reclaim the autonomy his body needed. Every day, he would take him around the little vegetable garden of the Gaffer, and, in the privacy of the little bedroom, he would help him regain the flexibility of his limbs. He asked him to reproduce simple gestures — raise his arms in the air, spin them, bend his knees, stand up straight — but at first it took a lot of energy out of Frodo, and he ended up going to bed, exhausted. Sam had brought him some books from the library in Bag End, and he was able to read again. It helped him a lot with his speech: words came more easily to him, and if his voice gradually lost its hoarse squeak, he was now expressing himself in a constant whisper that was quite unsettling to Sam.

Once the shock of finding Frodo was over, Samwise found it harder and harder to ignore what his heart had been trying to keep quiet for years. And to make things more difficult, Frodo wasn't pushing him away as he'd done at first, he even seemed to thrive in Sam's presence. He tended to ask for his company and seemed to eat more when Sam was looking at him, like a child trying to please a favourite parent. It wasn't easy for Sam, under these circumstances, to disregard the feelings that were tearing his heart and body apart. He had spent his life acting as if it did not exist, choosing to ignore the obvious, but he found himself forced to face it head-on every day. Accompanying Frodo — who was finally regaining some flesh on his bones — while he washed himself, listening to him recite the poems he read in his books in a hushed voice, feeling his gaze on him in search of approval, rubbing ointment on his skin... The list of intimate moments they shared seemed to have no end. This awakening of feelings that he thought he had buried away years before, pushed away from him when he had had to make a choice for the future of Middle-Earth, was like a whole new punishment for Sam. Three years after taking on Frodo's, he had to carry a burden again, in secret and without any elven magic to guide him this time. But if that was the price he had to pay to bring Frodo back to life, he could live with what he should consider nothing more than a minor inconvenience. The most important thing was to make sure that Frodo himself didn't notice anything.

‘You never ask what happened to me,’ Frodo once remarked in his ethereal voice. ‘Aren't you curious?’

Caught off guard by the question, Sam — who was busy cutting his master's hair to make him look like his former self — froze for a moment.

‘It's just…’ he began, his voice trembling slightly, ‘I wasn't sure you'd want to talk about it.’

He put down his scissors and went to kneel down before Frodo with a serious look on his face. He took his hands.

‘I'm ready to hear everything. Anything you want to share, I'll be able to carry it. I must. But to ask you to talk about it, that I dare not. Would you like to tell me about it?’

‘No, I don't want to tell you. Not yet,’ Frodo whispered. ‘But I'm reassured to know that I can count on you the day I do.’

‘Always, Mr. Frodo. I hope you know, you can ask me anything.’

‘Don't say that, Sam. You don't know what you commit yourself to.’

‘I don't care!’

Frodo gave him a sad smile and put a dry hand on Sam's round cheek and Sam shed a tear. They remained silent for a short while before Sam got up and picked up his scissors again. He had carefully avoided wondering what might have happened to Frodo after his disappearance, but now it was hard for him to ignore the questions in his head. He pushed them away firmly. If he wanted to stay sane to take care of his master, he should not waste himself in such speculations.

The atmosphere was more relaxed at 3, New Row since Frodo had regained his speech. He still ate very little for a Hobbit, but he shared the table with Hamfast and Sam almost every day, and he no longer needed help feeding himself. Sometimes he was sick, a consequence of his restored sweet tooth, but he was able to make light of it. Sam often talked about moving him back to Bag End, but Frodo didn't seem in a hurry to leave the shelter that was the Gaffer’s little hole. He would have to announce his return to everyone when he regained possession of his smial, and he wasn't ready for that yet. As for Hamfast, he was delighted to have company every day and did not seem to be bothered by the presence of his son and the master of Bag End in his house.

From time to time, the old Hobbit got a visit from Rosie, who brought him fruit or pies, and asked after his health. She always found an elegant and discreet way to ask Sam about the date of their wedding. Sam, on the other hand, had run out of discreet or elegant answers, and would stutter an excuse that often put and end to the young Hobbit-lass’s visit. Hamfast never failed to rebuff him after that.

One day, after Rosie's visit, Sam was sitting in the living room, mending a shirt for Mr. Frodo while he read in the armchair by the fireplace.

‘The Cotton lass comes to see you often,’ said Frodo in a whisper. ‘She's the one you're going to marry, isn't she?’

Sam felt his back stiffen, as if he was being aimed at by a particularly skilled archer and that a mere twitch from him would give the expected signal to shoot. He turned his head towards Frodo and tried to read in his eyes what this question could hide, but Frodo's eyes looked into his book, as if he hadn't spoken at all. It was ridiculous; of course he was curious about Sam. But how could he admit that he had considered continuing to live his life as an ordinary Hobbit when he thought Frodo was dead? How to make him understand that he hadn't accepted this engagement cheerfully, that having accepted it didn't mean that he had forgotten his grief? What sense did it all make now that Frodo had returned?

‘Well, Sam,’ Frodo said, looking at him this time, ‘don't you want to answer me? Surely there's nothing secret about it!’

‘Yes, it is... no! I mean, we're engaged, yes. But I’m…’

‘But he keeps delaying the wedding like a ninny-hammer,’ Hamfast cut in as he entered the living room, ‘that's why he isn't already married to the Cotton girl. Now that you're here, Mr. Frodo, perhaps there will finally be someone here to talk some sense into him!’

‘Da, you keep Mr. Frodo out of this. Besides, I haven't got time for this at all now, you know that.’

‘Nonsense! I’ve married off all your brothers and sisters, there’s nothing complicated about it.’

‘I just don't have the head for it, that's all.’

Hamfast sighed and Frodo kept his eyes fixed on Sam.

‘It's not very fair to keep her waiting,’ he said. ‘I'd be terribly sorry if you delayed the wedding because of me.’

'It isn't you, sir, really. I don't want to talk about it anymore, if you don't mind.’

Frodo nodded and Hamfast let out an exasperated grunt. He grabbed his pipe from the mantelpiece and went out into the back garden.

‘Your father seems quite upset by all this.’

‘It’s none of his business,’ answered Sam in a gloomy voice.

‘I won't talk about it anymore, then.’

‘That's very kind of you.’

A few days later, Sam asked Frodo to put on the clothes he liked the most. Once dressed, he set him up in the kitchen with tea and everything he needed to feed an army of hungry Hobbits. Frodo looked at the table covered with food as Sam walked away for a few moments.

‘I'm not able to eat all that yet,’ Frodo said with a light chuckle.

‘And that's why he called for help,’ came a sob-stricken voice behind him.

Frodo turned around: in the kitchen doorframe stood two tall Hobbits. Merry, who had spoken, stepped towards him. Pippin stayed back, tears streaming down his reddened face. Frodo rose to greet his cousin's embrace...

‘Frodo,’ Merry sobbed as he held him close... ‘Oh, but I'll break you if I hold you any tighter!’

‘I'm so sorry, my dear Merry.’

Pippin joined the embrace.

‘How tall you both are!’ Frodo exclaimed as he stepped gently away from them. ‘What's happened to you?’

‘Later, if you will,’ replied Merry, taking his hand. ‘Let us look at you some more.’

‘You owe us a few beers,’ tried to joke Pippin, who was still crying. ‘You made us shed quite a lot of tears! But these ones are welcome.’

The three Hobbits sat down and Sam served them tea. For a while, no one spoke. Merry and Pippin had sat each on one side of Frodo and kept touching his hand or arm, as if to make sure he wasn't an illusion.

‘You conspired against me again,’ Frodo said with a slight smile.

‘Sam conspired all by himself!’ exclaimed Pippin. ‘We taught him too well how to keep secrets. But I'm glad he waited before he told us: you had time to build up some strength, didn't you?’

Frodo nodded and reached out over the table to invite Sam to sit down. Sam took Frodo's hand and sat down in front of him, without taking his eyes off him.

‘Sam took very good care of me. And I'm glad he wrote to you. I didn't think I'd be able to see you again so soon.’

‘We could have come sooner! But we followed Sam’s instructions very closely. We forced ourselves to wait a few days before running all the way here, to give you time to get more flesh on your bones.’

‘And if you had read his letter!’ Pippin added. ‘All coded and secret. The news of your return is well kept with him.’

Sam was blushing. He opened his mouth to protest, but the smile Frodo cast his way left him speechless. To give himself some composure, he invited the others to help themselves to the pastries he had baked. Merry and Pippin didn't hesitate to try them, and this seemed to encourage Frodo along. He agreed to eat a little more than he was used to.

Once the emotion of their reunion had passed, the two visitors began to tell Frodo about their part of the adventure, after they had parted ways on the hill of Amon Hen and beyond the Anduin. Frodo listened with great attention, often moved, sometimes terrified by the story of his cousins. He wept with joy when he heard that Gandalf was alive, and Sam was glad to see him so happy. The Gaffer joined them, officially to enjoy tea and pastries, but he listened to the adventures of Merry and Pippin with a discreet ear, disguising his interest behind a feigned drowsiness.

‘I took the liberty of letting your cousins settle in Bag End for a few days,’ Sam said. ‘I hope you don't mind. Perhaps you might even want to join them?’

‘No, Sam. You did the right thing. I'd rather stay here some more, if it doesn't inconvenience your Gaffer. I don't feel brave enough to go back to this big, empty house yet.’

‘It's no trouble at all, Mr. Frodo. But it won't be empty if you go there now with Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin!’

‘We're not going back at once, Sam,’ said Merry, ‘Your father has kindly offered us to stay for dinner.’

‘Besides, we brought some food,’ exclaimed Pippin. ‘Good things from home that you probably missed. And pipe weed for everyone!’

And just as he spoke, the young Took drew a pouch out of his pocket and waved it proudly. All the Hobbits moved into Hamfast's little parlour and stuffed their pipes and sang songs. Sam's heart filled with gratitude. A hole full of happy Hobbits was certainly what Frodo needed to be healthy again.


	6. The lover

The arrival of Merry and Pippin at Bag End changed somewhat the routine that had settled in the Gaffer's home. In the morning, the two Hobbits came down from the Hill to share the first breakfast with Frodo and his hosts. They brought plenty of food and always insisted on doing the dishes, which — at first — embarrassed Hamfast greatly. In the late morning or mid-afternoon, they would take Frodo to the back garden where they would tell him amusing anecdotes of their adventures, or give him news of their country. Meanwhile, Sam would tidy up the bedroom, clean the house, and even go up to Bag End to tidy up the garden a bit.

The presence of Frodo's cousins brought Sam back to his old habits, when he worked for his master under the Hill and Frodo spent his time entertaining his relatives. At times like that, Sam would stay in the background. Even though he wished he could have spent more time with Frodo, he was happy to see that the company of Merry and Pippin gave him back a kind of energy that Sam hadn't been able to give him. Once, when Pippin made a rather silly impersonation of Gandalf, Sam heard Frodo laugh for the first time since his return. His heart swelled with a slightly bitter joy. How he wished he could have been the one for whom this unexpected sound finally rang out!

But he should not be ungrateful. The most important thing was for Frodo to recover. He was still very thin but no more skeletal, his voice was still hushed but he spoke much more often, his skin was still very pale but had regained a certain softness. At night, Sam could still hear him having nightmares, but now that his days were filled with laughter and songs, it seemed to keep the nightmares at bay. Sam could only rejoice in all these changes.  
He regularly asked Frodo if he didn't want to go back to Bag End, but Frodo always refused, explaining that he didn't feel well enough to move back there.

‘If you didn't live in Bag End too,’ Merry joked one day, ‘I’d swear you were trying to get rid of him!’

‘Maybe Sam's tired of living with his Gaffer and would like to go back to his little room in Bag End!’

Mortified by their remarks, Sam wanted to protest, but Frodo looked at Pippin and asked in a weak voice:

‘Small room?’

‘You know Sam,’ said the young Took, ‘always eager to keep to his place. He sleeps in the smallest of the smial's guest rooms.’

‘Just like a groundskeeper,’ Merry added.

Sam’s face had turned scarlet. He was already uncomfortable with the idea of having occupied Bag End in the absence of its rightful owner. He felt very embarrassed to have the details of his accommodation exposed like this.

‘Sam,’ Frodo whispered and turned to him, ‘is that true?’

‘Mr. Frodo…’

‘You could have taken my room, Sam, you had every right to.’

‘I never could have!’

Frodo cast him a sad smile but did not answer.

‘Well, never mind,’ said Merry, clapping his hands, ‘Frodo is quite comfortable here, and I understand why! Your father welcomed us royally. Where is he anyway?’

‘At the Cottons', no doubt,’ answered Sam in a somewhat sulky tone. ‘He's spending a lot of time there these days.’

‘I hope he's not running away from us!’ joked Pippin. ‘Oh, but it's probably because he wants to plan your wedding, Sam.’

‘Pippin,’ Merry rebuffed him through gritted teeth.

‘Well, what? Sam's gonna marry Rosie, aren’t you, Sam?’

Sam mumbled a vague answer. He did not understand Merry's reaction, who discreetly threw anxious glances in Frodo’s direction before abruptly changing the topic.

‘Even if you don't settle down in Bag End right away, maybe you'll want to come take a look there with us? At least for tea?’

‘Maybe,’ conceded Frodo, ‘we'll see!’

Their discussion was interrupted by the return of Hamfast. The old Hobbit settled down in the kitchen with the companions, accustomed now to sharing his table with the future Thain and Master of Buckland. However, he always remained a little shy when it came to talking to them directly, and never failed to throw a ‘Sam, your manners!’ when Sam failed to address Merry or Pippin with the required ‘mister’. When it came to Frodo though, the Gaffer had long since given up the idea of correcting his son’s lack of manners.

‘And how is old Tolman Cotton doing?’ Pippin asked Hamfast.

‘Very well, Mr. Peregrin, it's very kind of you to ask.’

‘It's just that you'll soon be tightening your family ties, if I understand correctly.’

‘If Sam finally makes up his mind, yes! He won't be the first Gamgee to marry a Cotton child, mind you!’

Sam was very embarrassed to hear his father talk about his business like that. He noticed that Merry had been glaring at Pippin several times, but the Took seemed completely oblivious to the awkwardness in the kitchen. After a few minutes, Frodo apologised and — wishing his cousins a good day — went off to rest.

The two visitors stayed until dinner, where they were joined again by Frodo who was even more quiet than usual. The Gaffer told them all the latest gossip in the village, which eased the atmosphere somewhat, and Pippin asked no more embarrassing questions. Sam couldn't help but be relieved when Merry and Pippin said good night and retired to Bag End.

In the evening, as he lay down on his mattress, Sam felt Frodo's gaze on him. He turned to his master in the darkness of the room...

‘Is everything all right, Mr. Frodo?’ he asked. ‘Can't you sleep?’

For long seconds there were no answers.

‘Can I come with you?’ Frodo finally whispered.

‘On the floor? You're not going to be comfortable. You'll be much better off in your bed.’

‘Will you come, then?’

Sam felt his ears turn red. Luckily, in the dark, Frodo probably wouldn't see it. He chastised himself: Mr. Frodo asked for nothing but a little comfort. He still had so many nightmares. There was nothing more there.  
Sam got up and fumbled until he found the edge of the little bed, where he slipped, making the frame creak slightly. Frodo came closer and curled up against him instantly.

‘There,’ Sam said as if to ward off the uneasiness that crept over him, ‘are you better now, Mr. Frodo?’

Frodo nodded his head against his shoulder but did not answer. They fell asleep, huddled together.

In the middle of the night, Sam was awakened by a whimper. At first he thought Frodo was troubled by memories of his imprisonment by the orcs, and the misadventures that must have followed, and of which Sam knew nothing. But Frodo didn't seem particularly frightened: he had turned his back on Sam and was sobbing as quietly as possible.

‘Mister Frodo?’ Sam asked softly, ‘What's wrong?’

‘Oh, Sam…’ Frodo sighed. ‘I'm sorry I woke you up. Go back to sleep, it's nothing.’

‘Come on, I'm not going to let you cry like that all alone! Don't you want to tell your Sam?’

Frodo turned to him and took his hands.

‘You mustn't let this worry you, Sam, really.’

‘But you being sad worries me. I'm ready to hear what you want to share, you know that!’

‘Not that, Sam. You're not ready to hear this.’

‘It's not for you to know whether I'm ready or not,’ Sam replied in a soft but firm tone. ‘And if it must break me, well so be it! It’s no more than I deserve!’

‘Oh, Sam. Don't say that.’

Sam brought Frodo's hands to his lips and kissed them tenderly. Frodo let out a strangled gasp.

‘You said I could ask you anything I wanted,’ he whispered.

‘Of course you can!’

‘Sam…’

Frodo hesitated. He put his hand on Sam's cheek. His fingers were cold, but they felt soft again. In the darkness, Sam could make out Frodo's wide-open eyes, his pupils dilated to catch the slightest ray of light. He didn't have time to see more before Frodo's lips were pressed against his own.

‘Make love to me, Sam,’ Frodo whispered as he drew back to catch his breath. ‘I'm asking it of you, please…’

‘Frodo…’

Sam should have refused him, surely Frodo didn't know what he was asking. Maybe Sam was dreaming it all. Yet, his hands had already slipped over his master's hips, his lips had already found their place against Frodo's, as if that was where they belonged. Sam felt under his fingers the body that was still too thin, the skin that was still too fragile, but also all the life beating in the veins, and the newly found strength in the muscles. He let himself slide down this body that had been so long lost to him, lifting the nightshirt to plant feverish kisses wherever he could. Alive. When his mouth met the unmistakable proof of the life beating in this body, standing and proud, swollen with warmth and desire, Sam didn't hesitate.

‘Sam!’ came Frodo's panting, broken voice.

Sam felt Frodo's fingers clinging to his curly head as he unabashedly tasted his master's sex. Never before had he shared such an intimate act.

‘Wait,’ Frodo whispered as Sam felt the pulse announcing the coming orgasm beating on his tongue, ‘wait! I wanna…'

‘Anything you want,’ Sam replied, catching his breath.

‘Take me,’ he said simply.

Sam felt himself blushing at these words. Would he dare? Was Frodo fit for such attentions? He wanted to protest, to propose something else. But Frodo demanded, and Sam could do nothing but obey.  
He wanted to take his time, to find out what the other loved, to explore every inch of his skin, to listen to his muffled whimpers as he covered him with kisses. But in the darkness of the room, only urgency and despair seemed to guide their actions. So Sam grabbed the little jar of ointment from the bedside table and, his fingers clumsy with emotion and desire, prepared their bodies for union. Frodo wanted to turn around, but it was the only thing Sam dared deny him. He wanted to savour his whole embrace — his arms around his neck, his legs around his hips. And as he felt Frodo's intimate warmth envelop him completely, his tears mingled with the kiss they shared. The creaking of the bed was the only witness of the movements of their bodies. And, after a few thrusts of their hips, they both fell into a speechless orgasm. Then, there was silence.

Sam waited several heartbeats before getting up and fetching something to clean up the remains of their embrace. When he had finished, he stood by the bed, waiting for Frodo's permission to come back and lie next to him. When Frodo finally reached out his hand, Sam released the breath he was holding. Relieved, he lay down against Frodo, pulling the blanket over them both, and closed his eyes. The next day frightened him. What could he expect from what had just happened? Should he pretend that he hadn't shared his master's bed as a lover would? And most important, would Frodo regret this stolen moment? There were too many questions inside his head, and he lacked the strength to answer them. For now, he wanted to savour the warmth of the body sleeping next to his own.

The closed shutters let a few rays of sunlight through when Sam opened his eyes. How many years had it been since he had slept so soundly? The sun must have been up for several hours, and Sam wasn't used to letting it run its course so far ahead before he started his day. Yet he didn't get up immediately. He took a few moments to reflect on the events of the night before. He had made love to Frodo. The very idea seemed absurd to him, impossible. Yet he still felt the sensation of Frodo's skin against his own, the softness of his hair under his fingers, the intoxicating smell and the taste of his sex on his tongue. He could still hear the stifled moans, the sighs of pleasure, and the creaking of the bed frame, all resonating in his head. It was so unexpected, so unhoped for, that Sam wondered if it hadn't just been a dream. Besides, he was alone in the small bed.

Sam startled. It was the first time Frodo got up before him. Seized by an irrational panic, he dressed up in a hurry and ran to the kitchen.

‘Ah, Sam!’ the Gaffer greeted him, sitting by the fire and smoking his pipe. ‘You're finally up. Mr. Frodo isn't awake?’

‘Didn't you see him?’ exclaimed Sam, whose heart started beating in his throat. ‘He's not in his room!’

‘Well, no reason to worry, he must have gone for a little walk. It was high time he came out. He probably went up to see his cousins in Bag End.’

The Gaffer had barely finished his sentence when Sam walked through the gate. He had to stop himself from running along the New Row and all the way to the Hill, so as not to draw too much attention to himself. ‘Calm down,’ he repeated to himself, ‘Frodo can't be far away.’  
When he arrived in front of the green door, he felt his blood freeze: it was locked. Trying to reassure himself — Merry, Pippin and Frodo had perhaps gone for a walk? — Sam took the key out of his pocket and entered. When he crossed the threshold, it became clear to him that there was no one left in the hole. Despite this certainty that cut him through the bones, Sam went around the smial six times before concluding that Merry and Pippin were gone. He hoped as much as he feared Frodo had gone with them.


	7. The fiancé

He thought he was suffocating. His throat got tighter and tighter, his breath was short. It wasn't until the tears came that Sam realised he wasn't dying. He was crying. The violent sobs were shaking his body, his grief as strong as the one he had felt in Minas Tirith when he had realised Frodo would never come back. No. It was different this time. Frodo was alive, but he was gone. He'd preferred to stay away from him. Sam couldn't have feared a worse punishment.  
He should have denied him what Frodo had asked the day before. He probably wasn't in his right mind. Now Frodo must regret it. Perhaps he was even horrified to find out what Sam had been thinking about all these years. But Frodo was the one who had asked, wasn’t he? Sam couldn't be sure about last night anymore. He was almost certain he'd dreamt it. And if his father hadn't mentioned Frodo that morning, Sam would wonder if he wasn't just crazy and had imagined everything from the beginning.

When he finally caught his breath, he headed to the kitchen in Bag End to make himself some tea. He had to think, and there was no point in thinking on an empty stomach. Sam had to eat and drink something. As he sat down with his steaming cup of tea, the Hobbit finally noticed the piece of paper lying on top of the kitchen table. In his panic, he had missed it. With trembling fingers, he unfolded it and read the words hastily scribbled down. Sam recognised Merry's handwriting.

_Sam,_

_Frodo is urging us to take him to Crickhollow immediately. I wish I could have told you in person, but I won't have time for that._

_You know where to find us._

_Fondly,_

_Merry._

Sam reread the note several times. His heart was beating fast once more, but he couldn't tell if it was from relief or sorrow. Frodo hadn't left alone, he was on his way to Crickhollow: Sam could join him soon. But did he want Sam to find him ? Merry might have gone against Frodo's wishes by telling Sam their destination.  
Forgetting his tea and his first breakfast, Sam hurried back down to the Gaffer’s house. He entered the kitchen out of breath and found his father sitting in the same seat, still quietly smoking his pipe.

‘And what's the matter with you, my boy?’ asked the Gaffer as Sam slammed the door behind him in panic. ‘Has something happened to Mr. Frodo?’

Of course, it was the only thing that could put Sam in such a state, and Hamfast knew it.

‘I just wanted to warn you. I've got to leave. I've got to follow him.’

‘Leave? Come on, come to your senses. Leave where? And for how long?’

‘To Crickhollow. I don't know exactly, Da, I have to…’

Hamfast raised his hand with authority to silence him.

‘None of that, Samwise. You're not going after him again without a little thought first. He hasn't been abducted, as far as I know?’

‘No, he hasn’t…'

‘So he left of his own free will, and if he kept you out of it, I know it breaks your heart, but he probably had a good reason. You're not going to go against his will, are you?’

‘But Da…'

‘I'm not finished, boy. And then what? He's with Mr. Took and Mr. Brandybuck, isn't he? Then he's in no danger. There's no way you need to rescue him or anything. He's probably just looking for a little peace and quiet. And maybe he wants to give you some time to yourself?’

Sam looked at his father, stunned. Hamfast was obviously right on many things, but Sam's heart didn't want to hear it. He remained frozen, unable to know whether to follow his impulse to go after Frodo or to listen to the advice of the Gaffer.

‘Come and have a cuppa,’ said Hamfast, limping up to him and taking his hand. ‘We'll have a little chat, you and I, and then you can make your decision. There's no need to rush: if he's on his way to Crickhollow, you'll find him there.’

Sam let himself be guided to the kitchen table and accepted the cup his father handed him.

‘Do you know why Mr. Frodo left?’ Hamfast asked after Sam had taken a few sips.

‘I think I do…’

‘And?’

‘It's because of me.’

‘Are you sure about that? I know you blame yourself for all sorts of things when it comes to Mr. Frodo.’

‘Yes, Da. This time it's my fault,’ replied Sam, looking sheepish.

The Gaffer drew on his pipe, thoughtful. He let the silence last a little while before addressing his son again.

‘And do you think it is wise to run after him if you think that poor Hobbit left because of you?’

‘Probably not.’

There was another silence. Sam felt the tears threatening behind his eyelids again. He had ruined everything. Mr. Frodo was recovering, and now he had scared him away with his... inappropriate attentions. Last night was more than confusing. But all was not lost. He was safe with his cousins, not lost in the middle of Mordor. Knowing that he'd left to get away from Sam was heartbreaking, and only the thought that Frodo was now strong enough to make his own decisions and choices comforted him.

‘Won't you tell me what happened?’ Hamfast asked in a soft voice.

Sam felt himself blushing from head to toe. The Gaffer's expression turned blank.

‘I see... Well, now that he's gone, you can take care of some of the things you've been neglecting since his return,’ said Hamfast, rising to his feet and stoking the fire. ‘There is the garden at Bag End, which is not in a very good state. I was there the other day, and you'll have to weed it out a little. And the roses need pruning, too. And then there's the account book: Mr. Frodo’s tenants will wonder if you've forgotten them.’

Sam saw his father hesitate for a moment before continuing in a shy voice.

‘And then there's your wedding. Maybe you can take care of that now, huh?’

‘Da…'

‘Well what? How long are you going to keep that poor girl waiting? She's very kind to have so much patience for a simpleton like you who only cares about ghosts and dreams and the moon.’

‘I don't think I can marry her now.’

‘And why can't you? First it was because Mr. Frodo was gone, then because he needed to be taken care of, and now? You’ll invite him to the wedding, and he'll be very happy for you. He’s such a generous lad, and maybe he'll want to move back to Bag End.’

Sam took a breath to remain calm. He couldn't explain to his father why he couldn't marry Rosie, but he suspected that he understood very well and said nothing. After all, it was probably easier for the Gaffer to pretend he didn't know.

But a certainty began to take shape in Sam's mind, like the slow and inexorable rise of a tide. He wouldn't marry Rosie. He had never intended to, and he was going to have to face it. Shame overtook him. He wasn't one to go back on his word... But how many promises had he broken since he swore he'd never lose Mr. Frodo? There was no need to mourn over it now. But he could put things right where he could. Go to Rosie. Tell her he couldn't remain engaged to her. It would hurt her, poor thing. But she didn't deserve to marry a Hobbit who didn't love her above all others. And Frodo, whether he liked it or not, would always be the first. Even in death, he had never ceased to come first... So running away to Crickhollow would do little to stop Sam from loving him. It could only stop him from letting it show.

Decided, Sam looked at his father.

‘I have to go talk to Rosie. Her brothers might kick my arse. Well, there’s not much for it now, that's the way it is.’

‘Sam, are you sure about this? Once you go back on your word, you can't change your mind. The Cotton family may not want to have anything to do with you anymore.’

‘I know they might. But I have to. I can't give Rosie what she deserves.’

‘Sam…’

‘There's only Frodo, Da! The rest…’

The look the Gaffer gave him was enough to cut him off.

‘Well, so be it,’ Hamfast scolded. ‘Go to her, and break her heart. But clear Mr. Frodo's room first.’

Sam stood up stiffly. He did what his father asked him to do and picked up the dirty sheets and the laundry that was lying around in the little room. He put them in the hamper, a little ashamed at the thought that the linen maid, who would pick them up for the laundry as she did every week, would see the traces of his antics.

‘Da,’ he said before getting out of the hole, ‘I can never thank you enough for what you did for Mr. Frodo. Welcoming us and all, it was very generous.’

‘There was one thing you could have done that would have made me happy,’ sighed the Gaffer grumpily. ‘But well, you decided to go your own way, as always. Come on, you're a good boy. And I was happy to help you get poor Mr. Frodo back on his feet. I hope you find a way to be happy now.’

‘Oh, Da.’

With tears in his eyes, Sam hugged his father. Hamfast accepted the embrace willingly.

His mind swimming with thoughts, Sam made his way back to Bag End with his belongings under his arm. Once in the smial, he began to put away everything he could, both to put the house and his mind back in order. Then, he prepared himself a bath. Nothing like hot water to take his mind off things.  
Once he was relaxed and rid of the tiredness and sense of urgency that had overwhelmed him a few hours earlier, he finished the breakfast he had prepared for himself and left behind when he found Merry's letter. The paper was still on the table and Sam reread it once more. Frodo needed some distance. He also needed to be with his family. If Sam rushed after him, maybe he'd scare him away for good. But could he give him enough time? How many days would he have to wait to get to him? He'd have to write to Merry, or to Frodo himself, to ask his permission. He should not rush to him, he should give him time. Then Sam could see him and apologise, promise him he'd never do it again, promise him he'd do whatever Frodo wanted him to do to be forgiven.

When his meal was over, Sam went out again and set off for the Cottons' farm. His heart pounded wildly in his throat as he thought of what he should say to poor Rosie. He turned the sentences around and around in his head, looking for the best way to explain it to her, an excuse, a reason that she would understand. When he arrived on the estate, he came across Tom, Rosie's older brother and the husband of his sister Marigold. He took the opportunity to ask news of her, since his younger sister had been unable to visit the Gaffer because of an advanced pregnancy.

‘Everyone is doing great at the moment, Sam. The next little Cotton babe could be here any day now.’

‘I'm very happy about that,’ said Sam, putting a friendly hand on Tom's shoulder.

'I suppose you've come to see my sister, and not yours,’ said the Hobbit with a knowing wink. ‘She's in the barn putting away onions. But I have to come with you, it wouldn't be proper otherwise.’

Sam blushed at those words. Tom burst out laughing.

‘I'll keep my distance, now. Your little secrets will stay between you.’

‘Tom,’ said Sam earnestly, ‘I didn't come here to court her.’

Tom frowned very slightly.

‘Nothing serious, I hope. Rosie tells me your Gaffer's doing better.’

Sam didn't answer and headed for the barn. Tom followed him. When Sam entered the large wooden building, Tom stayed by the door.

‘Sam!’ exclaimed the young Hobbit-lass as she saw her fiancé approaching. ‘What a pleasant surprise!’

Seeing her like this, her cheeks turned pink with work and joy, Sam felt a twinge in his heart. Feeling his distress, Rosie's smile gradually faded away.

‘Is something wrong? Your Gaffer?’

Sam shook his head.

‘No, don't worry about him, he's all right. I came because... Oh, Rosie, I'm so sorry. I can't marry you.’

‘Sam... if I have to wait some more, you can tell me. You know I'll wait for you!’

‘No, Rose,’ answered Sam with sobs in his voice, ‘I don't want you to wait any longer. I won't marry you. I can never give you what you deserve.’

Rosie turned pale and then scarlet. Tears formed in her eyes, but she held them back with all her strength. Hands on her hips, looking stern, she asked:

‘You're gonna have to give me a reason, Sam Gamgee. ‘I can’t’ is not good enough. You owe it to me!’

All the excuses Sam had imagined on the way to the farm vanished. Seeing the young Hobbit-lass show such courage forbade him to be a coward.

‘Is there someone else?’ she asked in a wounded voice.

‘Yes, there is.’

Her pretty eyes turned black with anger.

‘Well, tell me who it is.’

‘Rose…'

‘It's Violet Grubbs, isn't it? I've seen you go to her house a few times. And the Gaffer didn't look very sick to me. So what, he's your accomplice, then? I can't believe it!’

To say she was angry was an understatement. Sam didn't know how to untangle the situation: he couldn't let Violet and her father suffer the wrath of Rosie in this way. If the Cotton family got angry at them, the whole village would treat them like pariahs.

‘Violet and the Gaffer had nothing to do with this.’

‘But then who is it?’ she said, loosing her temper. ‘Don't lie to me, Sam Gamgee, not after all this time!’

Sam took a deep breath. He owed her the truth, and he hoped she could forgive him.

‘There is someone, Rosie, someone who comes before anyone else. It’s been this way for a long time now. If I can't marry you it's because... well, I'll tell you as I haven't told anyone yet, it's because I love Mr. Frodo, that's why.’

The Hobbit-lass turned pale again. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened but she didn’t make any sound. When she finally found her voice again, she whispered:

‘But, Sam... he's not here anymore.’

‘And yet he is,’ Sam answered with tears in his eyes. ‘He was the one Violet and I were taking care of in the Gaffer’s house a while ago. We're keeping his return a secret, because the poor thing is in bad shape, but he lives, Rosie, and I can't put anyone else before him.’

Rosie looked at him in disbelief.

‘But you could take care of him and marry me anyway,’ she whispered, uncertain.

‘No, Rose, I couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to you.’

‘So you love him... like a husband loves his wife?’ she asked, her cheeks bright red.

Sam nodded, a little red himself. He glanced at Tom, who was watching them, his arms folded and looking stern.

‘Yes,’ he admitted, ‘and that's why, even though he may never love me as I love him, I can't make you my wife. Nor any Hobbit-lass, for that matter. It wouldn't be right to be torn in two like that.’

Rosie was crying now. Feeling awkward, Sam could not be the one to comfort her, he could not be such a hypocrite, and it would have been too embarrassing for her.

‘I'm so sorry, Rosie. I'm sure you'll find a Hobbit worthy of you,’ he said, awkwardly.

‘But I don't want a Hobbit worthy of me, Sam Gamgee!’ she exclaimed. ‘Do you think I'd have waited all these years if that's what I wanted?’

There was nothing to answer that. Sam understood perfectly well how she felt: wasn't it the same as how he felt about Frodo? Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tolman coming towards them.

‘And what's going on here? Sam?’

‘It's nothing, Tom,’ said Rosie, wiping her eyes with her apron. ‘Don't get angry, now.’

‘It doesn't seem nothing to me, Rose, to make you cry like that. It isn't old Sam giving you grief, is it?’

He didn't seem to be joking. Sam was sad that he would lose Tom's friendship along with Rosie's, but he didn't really have a choice if he wanted to live as an honest Hobbit.

‘Leave us a little longer, Tom,’ said Rosie, ‘Sam still has some things to tell me. Don't worry about me.’

‘All right, but I'll stay by the door.’

When he walked away again, Rosie cleared her throat and took a deep breath. She folded her arms across her chest and looked Sam straight in the eye.

‘If what you say is true, I guess we'll have a Baggins in Bag End again after all these years. And you, you'll live with him?’

‘He went away with his cousins to Crickhollow. I don't know if he'll come back. And if he does, I don't think he'll want to live with me.’

As he spoke, Rosie rolled her eyes and sighed, shaking her head.

‘Silly boy,’ she said to herself... ‘Well, it's none of my business anymore. As for keeping Mr. Frodo's return a secret, you can count on me. But you will go and explain to my parents yourself that the engagement is broken,' she added in a strangled voice.

Sam nodded, solemnly. Taking her hands gently, he replied:

‘It's not for me to tell you this, but the Hobbit who marries you will be one of the luckiest Hobbits in the Shire. As for me, if you will, I will always be there if you need a friend. Goodbye, Rose Cotton.’

With red eyes, Sam left the barn, greeting his sister's husband on his way out. He still had to talk to old Tolman Cotton. Despite this bleak prospect, he felt lighter than he had ever felt in years.


	8. The newcomer

Despite Frodo's absence, Sam managed to fall back into his former routine at Bag End: tending the gardens, keeping the account books, visiting Hobbits... He had to deal once again with the Shirrif about a goblin that had been seen around Woody End. It was also an opportunity for him to make sure that the story of the mysterious creature carried away by Sam Gamgee was rather forgotten. He had no doubt, however, that people’s tongues must have been wagging in spite of Olo's silence.

Sam's change of mood and return to public life didn't go unnoticed: rumours of his broken engagement to the pretty Rosie Cotton had spread around Hobbiton in just a few days, and the fact that Sam was less somber now than in the past raised a lot of questions. He wasn't paying attention to any of it. He was putting all his energy into getting his life back in order, hoping he could be ready when Frodo agreed to move back into Bag End. He had discussed it with his father: if Frodo demanded that Sam leave the smial, he could return to live with Hamfast.

So, after a few weeks of silence, Sam finally took up his pen to write to his master. He could not let Frodo believe that his absence meant nothing to him.

_My dearest Mr. Frodo,_

_I hope you'll forgive your Sam for not writing to you sooner. Your departure caused me much grief, but I couldn't risk overwhelming you again with my words or my presence. My Gaffer persuaded me not to follow you, and I hope I did well to heed his advice._

_There are many things I cannot say here, because I lack the words, and dare not write down what is on my heart._

_You should only know that I know I have hurt you; why else would you flee?_

_I hope that you will come back, that you will forgive this fool who did not know or understand, perhaps, what you wanted from him. I hope that you will live here, in your house that I prepare every day for your return. Do you know, Mr. Frodo, that every flower in my care is longing to be admired by you?_

_My feet yearn to follow in your footsteps, you only have to say a word, and I'll come running, or bury myself away from you forever. And if you should never forgive me and deny me your affection for good, knowing you are alive, even far from me, will remain the sweetest of comfort._

_In the hopes that you will answer me,_

_Yours faithfully,_

_Sam Gamgee._

He slipped the letter into an envelope addressed to Frodo, and put that envelope into another, addressed to Merry, so as not to arouse the posthobbit's curiosity. He added a little note to Frodo's cousins, thanking them for taking care of him and giving some news of Hobbiton. He did not mention that he had broken his engagement: these were news he was reluctant to give in writing. He hoped to see them again soon to tell them.

Several days passed, during which Sam waited eagerly for the posthobbit to come by. One morning, he finally saw him running up the road to Bag End, and Sam felt his heart beating in his throat: had Frodo answered him at last?

‘Sam!’ exclaimed the Hobbit out of breath, ‘Tolman sent me, the young one! You have a niece!’

Sam was torn between disappointment and joy.

‘Is Mari okay?’ he asked as soon as the surprise was over. ‘And what's this little one's name?’

‘Everyone is well, yes. I was passing by the farm for my regular round when Tom told me the news and asked me to come and find you. It’s a little Rosie, he told me.’

The posthobbit looked embarrassed and Sam avoided his gaze. Surely the new parents had wanted to be nice to Tom's sister, who was still upset because of him.

‘I'll visit them this afternoon, after I have prepared a little something for the family,’ Sam said with a warm smile. ‘Thank you for coming. Would you like a cup of tea to help you recover from your run?’

‘Thanks, Sam. I've still got my rounds to finish. See you then!’

As the Hobbit went down the path, Sam couldn't help but ask him:

‘And you wouldn't happen to have any mail for me, would you?’

‘Oh no, not today. Only one piece of good news at a time,’ he added with a wink before hitting the road again.

This time Sam didn't hide his disappointment.

When he arrived at the Cottons' farm that afternoon, Sam was a little nervous. He hadn't seen them since the day he had come to formally end his engagement to Rosie. It hadn't been so bad, even though old Tolman had started to tell anyone who would listen that Sam Gamgee had been putting on airs ever since he had returned from the big world and was living in his late master's house. He and the Gaffer were a little at odds.

Sam was greeted by Jolly, one of Rosie and Tom's younger brothers. He had always liked Sam very much and was one of the only ones who had not been angry that he had broken off his engagement with his sister.

‘I'm glad you came,’ he said in a soft voice as he took Sam's coat. ‘And you spoiled us too! I hope I get to taste that beautiful pie.’

‘You know it's for my sister, we'll see if she'll let you have a piece of it,’ answered Sam.

‘Then I can have the flowers,’ said Jolly teasingly.

‘If you’d be so kind as to give them to your mother for me.’

‘I thought you weren't afraid of dragons, after all your adventures,’ Jolly winked. ‘Well, I'm willing to sacrifice myself for you! You go and see Marigold, she's right here.’

And, taking the flowers from Sam's hands, he pointed to a slightly ajar door that led to a room where several Hobbits were already gathered. He entered and recognised Nick and Nibs, Tom's younger brothers, Rosie, Tom himself, and of course Marigold, lying in bed, glowing with happiness and holding in her arms a tiny Hobbit babe who was sleeping soundly. The young mother's face lit up some more when she saw her brother.

‘Sam! I'm so glad you came.’

‘Congratulations, Mari,’ Sam said, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

Rosie smiled faintly and took the pie he still held and put it on top of a dresser behind her.

‘Give us some room,’ she said gently to her little brothers. ‘This pie is for Marigold, there's no need to look at it like that!’

The two young Hobbits went out, without a look for Sam. Although they were almost children still, they fiercely supported their sister and refused to be friendly with him.

‘What a marvel,’ Sam said shyly, looking at the sleeping baby after giving his sister a kiss.

‘Samwise, this is Rosie Lily Bell Cotton,’ said Marigold in a soft voice.

‘Really,’ said Rosie blushing, ‘you shouldn't have. Lily Bell, that was a fine name.’

‘I think Rosie suits her very well,’ said Sam smiling, ‘a pretty flower always needs to have thorns.’

Tom shook his head but Rosie smiled at him, clearly moved.

‘The Gaffer will be glad she has Bell as her middle name. Has he come to see her?’ Sam asked.

‘Not yet,’ Tom said. ‘He's still a bit angry with my dad. Oh, that'll help them make peace, no doubt. But you know them. They can be real pigheaded.’

Silence fell and Jolly walked into the little room. He pressed himself up against Sam to look at the sleeping baby.

‘What a sweet little treasure!’ he cooed. ‘It's a good thing she doesn't look like you, Tom!’

‘She's a Gamgee,’ Marigold said proudly. ‘But she also takes after her daddy, look at her little furrowed eyebrows: she looks a bit grumpy already!’

Everybody started laughing.

‘She's so cute,’ Jolly concluded, stroking with a fingertip the still slightly sticky curls that covered the tiny skull.

Then, turning to Sam with bright eyes:

‘She looks like Sam!’

Sam felt himself blushing from head to toe while Rosie slapped her brother lightly on the shoulder. Tom sighed. Marigold looked at Jolly with a sad smile.

A few days after his visit to the Cottons' house, Sam finally received the much hoped-for mail from Crickhollow. Both impatient and terrified to open it, he forced himself to wait several hours to finish his chores so that he could sit quietly in the parlour with the letter. There, sitting in Frodo's favourite armchair, he opened the envelope and carefully unfolded the letter. His heart missed a beat when he recognised Merry's handwriting.

_Dear Sam,_

_I don't know what in your letter upset our Frodo so much, but after reading it, he locked himself in his room for several hours to cry. I'll quote Pippin's words here and say that he sometimes behaves like a Hobbit-lass pining to be invited to her first ball.  
I can imagine you're worried, Sam, but if I allow myself to speak so lightly, it's because since we've been here, Frodo's been doing wonderfully. He's eating almost as much as he used to, he's taking walks around, and he's regained his youthful complexion! The only shadow in the picture remains his nightmares and all those things he won’t tell. He refuses to talk about the reason why we left in such a hurry, and — obviously — your absence costs him more than he is willing to say._

_I would like to apologise for not writing to you in the weeks following our departure. There was a lot to do here, and I didn't know whether you would follow us or not. It's not a very good apology, but unfortunately it's the only one I have to offer._

_But let's get back to Frodo. What a pigheaded fool! He doesn't want to say it, but there’s no need to be a thousand-years-old elf to know what's bothering him. He misses you, Sam, and that's all I'll allow myself to write here. As for the rest, I think it's best that you join us here in Crickhollow to settle your affairs._

_Don't worry about Frodo, we're taking good care of him, even if we owe you most of his regained health. Try and come when you can, I assure you he won't be angry about it, and quite the opposite._

_With all my affection,_

_Meriadoc._

Sam's head was spinning. Merry's words upset him in many ways, some of them contradictory. He was happy to know that Frodo was better, and sad that he wasn't the one who had restored him to his former shape. He wanted to believe what Merry said, that Frodo missed him, but he couldn't understand why Frodo hadn't answered him himself. Also, knowing that his letter had caused his master sorrow hurt in the worst way. He should be upset to read that Merry was taking things so lightly, gently mocking Frodo and his moods. But wasn't that Merry’s way of dealing with things? And then there was the unspeakable hope that Frodo's grief would be resolved by their reunion. Merry had written it down plain and simple: Sam could come to Crickhollow. This was cause for rejoicing.

He would have liked to leave at once, pack his things and slam the door, but there was no point in rushing off like that. So Sam spent the rest of the day quietly preparing for his departure: putting the garden in order, making some provisions, checking one last time that Frodo's room was spotless and ready to welcome his former resident, preparing his pack for the next few days of walking... Sam had decided that he would walk to Crickhollow. Otherwise he would have had to borrow a pony from the Cottons, and he didn't want to owe them any more than he already did. And then, the three days it would take to get to the little house in Buckland would be of great benefit to him: he had things to think about, and he would have plenty of time to do so on the road.


	9. The revenant

It felt strange to follow this road again years after having travelled it with Frodo and Pippin. It was as if, by retracing his steps, Sam could fix the mistakes of his previous journey. But this time, his steps would take him no further than Crickhollow and, if everything went as he hoped, he would soon be back with Mr. Frodo in Bag End.  
Before leaving, he had warned his Gaffer: he did not want him to worry about his absence and he wanted him to be able to answer the inevitable questions that would arise about where Sam Gamgee had disappeared again. The year following his return, he had travelled all over the Shire to replant trees and use Lady Galadriel's earth wherever it was needed — which had made the Shire’s plants particularly beautiful and healthy. At that time, the Gaffer had been asked over and over about his son's whereabouts, and had sometimes found it difficult to answer. This time at least, the story was simple: Sam had gone to visit the future Thain and Master of Buckland. Mentioning the names of the heroes of the battle of Bywater should be enough to shut the mouths of the gossipers for a while.

Leaving Hobbiton, he walked with Jolly Cotton for some time. The young Hobbit was on his way to the orchard to check on the trees. Of course, he asked him where Sam was going with his pack, and when Sam talked about going to see Merry and Pippin, Jolly's eyes lit up.

‘You'll say hello to them for me, will you?’

‘Of course.’

‘And you'll be back soon?’ Jolly added, taking his arm.

‘I think I will. In the meantime, I'm counting on you to look after my sister, and the whole family!’

Jolly smiled boldly at him, but his gaze wandered a little into the distance, and he asked in a soft voice:

‘What about you, Sam? Who's looking after you?’

Sam blushed a little at these words and looked away.

‘I don't need looking after, Jolly. It’s real nice of you to ask.’

‘Anyway, if you're lonely in your big smial up there under the Hill, you know you can always come and find me,’ Jolly whispered without looking at him.

‘That's very kind of you,’ answered Sam. ‘But you know, I have every reason to hope that soon I won't be lonely anymore. Oh, I shouldn't mention it, but I can trust you to keep a secret, can I?’

‘Are you going to get married?’ Jolly asked in a small voice.

‘No, no, nothing like that. Come on, forget I even talked about it. We'll see when I get back!’

Saying it out loud, that he could return to Bag End accompanied, gave him a new boost of energy. He hoped that this trip would give a happy ending to all his adventures. Lost in his joyful thoughts, he walked a little further with the young Hobbit and they parted at a crossroads, greeting each other warmly before going their separate ways.

The first night that Sam spent in his little camp by the road was more restless than he had expected. Although he was in a good mood at first, the memories of his adventures came back, raw, from the depths of his mind. Alone in the woods, even in these familiar lands, he saw shadows moving, unsettling, and couldn't help but think of what Frodo had experienced, abandoned all alone in Mordor. The guilt that he had managed to push away from him these last weeks came back to assail him in a single blow and with force. He saw Frodo, small and alone, surrounded by bloodthirsty orcs, whipped to the bone, hungry, terrified, and convinced that everyone had forgotten him.

These images kept turning in his head, and when Sam could finally close his eyes, dawn was rising, with the lulling songs of the birds that were urging the world awake.

He set off again a little before noon, feeling nauseous after a sleepless night, a late awakening, and an overly frugal breakfast.  
For the next two days, he walked without hardly ever meeting anyone. So, when he finally caught a glimpse of the little house in Crickhollow on the third evening, Sam felt his tongue dry in his mouth from lack of talking. Or maybe he was just anxious at the idea of seeing Frodo again?  
Taking a deep breath, he approached the front door and knocked. Inside, he heard voices chattering cheerfully, and his heart was filled with joy. At last the door opened, and Sam found himself face to face with a Hobbit whom he had not seen for a long time.

‘Mr. Fredegar!’

‘Goodness, Sam Gamgee!’ exclaimed Fatty in a loud voice. ‘Well, come on in!’

Sam followed him inside. In the living room, Merry and Pippin were engrossed in a deep conversation; they turned their heads and let out a joyful exclamation when they saw Sam.

‘Ah, it's about time,’ said Merry with a laugh.

‘And just in time for dinner, there’s a Hobbit with common sense!’ Pippin added, taking Sam's coat and package.

‘It's very kind of you to welcome me,’ whispered Sam, a little moved by this reunion. ‘I'm sorry I didn't tell you when I was coming, but I'm afraid the mail would have arrived after me.’

‘Come on, no need be so formal,’ said Merry, ‘you know you're always welcome.’

‘That's funny,’ said Fatty Bolger, looking at Merry, Pippin, and Sam in turn. ‘Looks like the conspiracy companions are back together.’

‘Indeed,’ said Pippin. ‘You don't blame Sam, I hope, for hiding Frodo's return so well? Our dear Fatty joined us here a few days ago, all unannounced. We didn't have the heart to lie to him any more,’ he added to Sam's address.

‘It's not for me to decide who has or hasn’t the right to know, but for Mr. Frodo himself,’ said Sam.

‘And besides, I can tell from the way your eyes search the room that you wonder where he is,’ Merry continued with a smile. ‘Don't worry, my dear Sam, he hasn't run away yet! He's resting in his bedroom. I'm sure he'll join us for dinner.’

Sam let out a small sigh of relief. The three companions guided him to the living room where he could relax a little, smoke a pipe and tell them the latest news of Hobbiton. He told them of the birth of his niece, and also that he broke off his engagement with Rosie.

‘Well, we're making progress here,’ Merry joked. ‘That should untangle things a little.’

‘Merry!’ exclaimed Pippin, ‘It's not very sensitive, although you're probably right.’

‘Ah, I don't understand any of this,’ said Fredegar, who didn't seem very upset to be left out of the secret, ‘but if I remember correctly, the Cotton girl was a pretty little thing, too bad for you, Sam.’

The Hobbits laughed, and even Sam joined in. If the atmosphere was always that jolly, it was no wonder Frodo was getting better.

‘You're in a good mood tonight,’ came a voice behind Sam. ‘What is…?’

Frodo, who had spoken, fell silent when he saw Sam. Sam turned around when he recognised Frodo... They looked at each other from across the room, as if frozen into place... Frodo was... himself. He'd obviously just woken up from a nap, and his cheeks were still a little rosy with sleep. His curly hair was untidy, but they seemed healthy, and his figure had filled out nicely.

Sam stood up on shaky legs and walked towards Frodo.

‘Mr. Frodo,’ he began...

‘Ah, Frodo!’ exclaimed Fatty, unaware of what was going on between them at the moment. ‘You're just in time, now we can go eat, I hope!’

Frodo took his eyes off Sam to look at his friend in amazement.

‘O... yes, of course. Well, I didn't keep you waiting, did I?’

‘No,’ replied Fatty cheerfully, ‘we were talking to Sam. Do you know that this ninny-hammer has broken off his engagement! Ah! There must be some pretty happy Hobbits in Hobbiton, now.’

‘Fatty!’ exclaimed Merry, ‘and they say I lack sensitivity!’

‘Oh, it takes more than that to shock our favourite Baggins, doesn't it Frodo?’

Visibly shaken by the news, Frodo nodded in absent-minded agreement.

When the Hobbits came to the table, Sam had a hard time accepting to be served by the future Thain, Pippin having taken it upon himself to be their host for the evening. Even harder, the idea of not serving Frodo and sitting so far away from him — Merry occupied the seat between them — made him uncomfortable. However, Fatty and Merry and Pippin's good humour dispelled his discomfort during the meal. Frodo, though he spoke little, followed the conversation with great attention.  
After dinner, everyone gathered once again in the living room. Frodo curled up in an armchair with his pipe, and Fatty and Pippin sang songs. They both had beautiful voices, and although he was craving to be alone with Frodo to talk to him, beg his forgiveness and fix up what needed fixing between them, Sam enjoyed this moment of shared tranquility. Merry, out of the corner of his eye, was watching them both.

‘Frodo,’ he said suddenly as Pippin and Fredegar discussed which song would be the next of their impromptu recital, ‘why don't you show Sam his room? Let’s give him a chance go to straight to bed if he so wished; the trip must have been tiring.’

Frodo gave him a wide-eyed stare, looked like he wanted to protest, but finally stood up without saying anything. He told Sam to follow him, and Sam obeyed, feverishly, following Frodo in the corridors of the little house.

‘Pippin settled your things in here,’ said Frodo in a weak voice, pointing to a door. ‘It's not very big, but the mattress is comfortable. I'm sorry, the house isn't as spacious as Bag End.’

‘It'll be all right, Mr. Frodo.’

They looked at each other without talking. After a moment, Frodo looked down, his cheeks red.

‘Sam, we need to talk.’

‘Anything you want, Mr. Frodo.’

Frodo took his hand and dragged him behind another door, where his own bedroom was, presumably. He closed the door and crossed his arms, more to comfort himself than out of severity.

‘I'm sorry, Sam.’

‘You're sorry? Mr. Frodo, you don't have to apologise,’ exclaimed Sam, sobs rising in his voice. ‘It is I, and I alone, who owes you an apology.’

‘No, Sam! You can't be responsible for everything. Not this time. I never should have asked you to do... that. You're too eager to do everything I want, regardless of your own desires! That's why I left. I'm going to destroy you, demanding things from you that are against your best interests.’

‘Against my... Mr. Frodo, is that what you think? That all I did was obey you? And so swiftly?’

Frodo looked at him, his eyes red and full of regret.

‘Sometimes I think that I should never have come back,’ he sobbed. ‘That I should have stayed hidden, away from you. I've destroyed everything you've tried to build for yourself. And now your marriage…’

As he spoke, Sam had moved closer until he took Frodo’s hands. Gently, he held them against his heart and said:

‘Mr. Frodo... Mr. Merry's right, you're a pigheaded fool, and pardon me for saying so... But... to think I'd have been happy without you! That's a foolish thing to say, and I know something about it. I've built nothing without you, nothing solid! All these years, without knowing it, I've done nothing but wait for you. And when you came back, well, for me, life was finally resuming its course, that's all.’

‘But even so, Sam,’ continued Frodo, his face running with tears, ‘you can't live like that, following my every wish. And especially not these ones, it's too much…’

Sam held Frodo's fingers to his lips and kissed them one by one.

‘What you asked me to do, I've only ever dreamt of it, Mr. Frodo. And so what? You thought it was a chore? But there’s no sweeter duty, then! I wanted it, I wanted it so much that I thought I'd made a mistake, misunderstood you and taken advantage of you.’

‘So you... you want me... that way?’

‘I never thought I'd ever be able to tell you this, but yes, I want you! I do! This way, and any way you want. I thought... I thought you ran away because you understood that.’

Frodo let out a strangled sound, half laughing and half sobbing. He looked without really seeing them, his fingers pressed into Sam's. When their eyes finally met, Sam thought they were seeing each other for the first time in all these years.

‘Oh Sam! …’ Frodo sighed as he threw himself into Sam’s arms.

And Sam hugged him tightly, tears rolling down his cheeks. Tears of joy at last. He was no longer afraid to hold Frodo tight, no longer afraid to break him in his embrace. When Frodo tried to gently release himself from his arms, Sam whimpered unhappily.

‘Just a little longer, please.’

At these words, Frodo laughed a little, and tightened his embrace. Sam had never heard so glorious a sound... When they finally parted, Frodo looked at him, a shy smile playing on his lips.

‘I'm going to have to thank Merry and his lack of sensitivity,’ he joked.

‘It's true that without his help, we might have remained like two fools a while longer.’

‘I'm really happy, Sam. I still have a lot of things to fix, but if you're with me, I'm sure I can do it.’

‘I'll do my best, I promise you.’

Without letting go of his hand, Frodo led Sam out of the room. He was going to head for the living room to join the others, but at the last moment he let go of Sam's hand, turned to the small door behind which the straw mattress was installed, and opened it. Sam saw him enter and exit a second later, his arms full with Sam’s bag. He then opened the door to his own bedroom and, putting the bag down, explained:

‘I think you'll be much more comfortable here.’

Closing the door, he took his companion's hand again. When the two Hobbits entered the living room, Sam's face was still bright red. Seeing them holding hands, Merry smiled.

The Hobbits spent part of the evening sitting by the fire listening to Fatty and Pippin sing. Sam sat in an armchair next to Frodo, unable to take his eyes off him. When it was time to go to bed, he followed him again through the corridors and shyly entered his room. There, they got ready for bed, trying to act as if nothing had changed between them. When Sam finally slipped under the blankets, he lay still and stiff, frightened at the thought of making a movement that would upset Frodo. Frodo curled up next him and whispered:

‘Thank you for coming, Sam.’

‘Thank you for keeping me close,’ Sam replied, kissing Frodo's head.

And so they fell asleep, holding each other tight.


	10. The survivor

The days that followed in Crickhollow went by like a dream. Sam took Frodo out for a walk almost every day, and he marvelled to see him grow stronger every day. He also ate with a ferocious appetite, which made his cousins tease him. Sam was delighted to prepare Frodo's favourite dishes, and even happier to see him finish his plate with relish, never failing to thank Sam with a loving smile. And in the evening, in the intimacy of the room he shared with Frodo, Sam fell asleep pressed against his master, in a chaste embrace that filled him with joy.

One afternoon, when all the Hobbits were gathered in the living room for tea, Frodo got up and addressed everyone.

‘I think I'm ready to tell you what happened to me,’ he announced in a quiet voice, as if surprised at his own realisation. ‘Do you want to hear this part of the story?’

‘I've wondered so much about what could have happened after Sam lost you,’ Fredegar replied kindly, ‘that knowing the truth would be a relief to me.’

‘Yes, Frodo,’ continued Pippin. ‘If you're ready to tell us, well, we're ready to listen. I am, anyway.’

Merry nodded to signify that he shared this feeling. Only Sam hesitated before answering.

‘If you're sure you want to’ he said, ‘then you know that I'm here for you, that we're all here for you,’ he added, blushing a little.

‘Thank you my friends,’ Frodo said.

Then, turning to Sam :

‘If you don't mind, I'd like to sit next to you while I tell the story. That way, with your arms around me, I won't let the darkness take me.’

Sam didn't have to answer, he just open his arms. Frodo sat down on his knees and grabbed the hand that Pippin, sitting in the nearest armchair, offered him out of sympathy. He took a deep breath and began his story:

‘I remember the last moments I spent with Sam very clearly... Almost more clearly than the rest, in fact. We had passed through the tunnel of Shelob and I thought I could enter Mordor when I was hit by the monster's sting. After that, it's a bit of a blur. I woke up several times, amidst the screams of orcs and the sounds of metal. I was in a dark room, lit by a red flame, it was very cold. When I actually came back to consciousness, I realised I was naked.

I still remember my panic very clearly: they had taken everything from me, I no longer had the Ring! I cried, and that made them angry. They... they beat me to shut me up.’

Sam squeezed Frodo a little tighter against him and buried his face in the back of his neck, holding back his tears with force.

‘After that, the orcs who were watching me argued, and I heard the others fighting below. And then one of the two orcs with me killed the other. There was still some noise, and then the great orc, the one who had killed his comrade, grabbed me, took a bag with what they had taken from me, and we went down the tower. There were bodies everywhere, dead or dying orcs. They may have been my enemies, but I remember feeling sorry for them. Then we came out, I was still naked and carried like a sack on my guard's shoulder. I was cold, so cold! And all the time I was thinking, ‘This is it, it's all going to stop now. He's going to kill me, and I haven't even accomplished my mission.’ But death wasn't coming. And you, my poor Sam, I worried about you, I thought you were lost. But you must've gotten to the tower after he took me, or we would've found each other again.’

‘Yes, Mr. Frodo,’ said Sam, sobbing. ‘When I got to the tower, there was nothing but dead orcs there. And no matter how I searched, how I called, how I shouted, you were nowhere. Oh, if I'd been quicker, what sorrow we'd have avoided!’

‘Yes, my dear Sam, but it's too late to regret it. And I'm here now. But I get lost in my story. The great orc, Shagrat was his name, wanted to take me himself to his master; to take all the credit, no doubt. I was only half conscious during the journey we made, freezing cold and terrified as I was. I could already see the world collapsing, and I thought, ‘The Ring, the Ring is in that bag he carries, with my mithril coat and my belongings. He is going to give it to the Dark Lord, and all will be lost!’. But, after a while, I understood that he was not taking the quickest route to Barad-dur, he did not want to be seen by his countrymen. Maybe I had a chance to stop him.’

‘Oh, Frodo!’ Pippin whispered, squeezing his hand.

‘If I ever doubted your courage, I'm really sorry,’ said Fatty.

Frodo, looking a little lost in his dark memories, cast a sad smile to his friends. Sam stroked his hair gently.

‘I'd noticed that Shagrat regarded me as a mere piece of luggage,’ Frodo continued, ‘when he wanted to take a break from his walk, he'd put me down without looking at me, and then he’d pick me up where he left me. One day — how long had we been walking? — he left me on the ground near a particularly sharp-looking boulder. I saw my chance there and picked up the biggest, sharpest, hardest stone I could find. I was still naked, there was no way to hide it other than to clasp it in my hand. So, to appear harmless, I feigned unconsciousness. When he threw me on his shoulder again, I took advantage of the movement he made to raise my arm and hit his skull with my stone.’

‘Hurrah!’ Merry and Pippin said in chorus, engrossed as they were in the story.

‘I didn't kill him on the spot, but he collapsed, and I with him. I am still ashamed to this day, but I was blind with rage. I was convinced that he had taken the Ring from me, and the thought was unbearable to me then. He had to pay. In spite of the cold, the hunger, the terror, I found the strength to strike him again and again, and he finally died. I think I threw up after that: I was all covered with his blood. But I quickly recovered and rummaged through the precious sack, and put on the mithril coat, but unfortunately he had not kept any of my clothes. And above all, I could not find the Ring.  
I turned the bag inside out, and scattered its contents over the black earth, but nothing! Then I cried, I cried as I had not cried for ages, like a helpless child. And then I understood. Sam. It was Sam who had taken the Ring.’

The Hobbits were holding their breath. Sam was shaking. He dreaded what was to come.

‘I didn't know what to think of it: I wanted to rejoice, to bless my dear Hobbit for being so clever, and I wanted to curse him, to call him a thief, a conspirator! But I did neither. I was cold, I was lost in the middle of Mordor, with no reason to be there anymore. I stripped my victim of his clothes, filthy, stinking rags that would protect me from the wind and from prying eyes. He had a knife at his belt, and I took it to cut off the oversized clothes, and then attached it to my waist. In the bag was my old flask, which was unfortunately empty, and rations of a black bread that was less disgusting than I had thought. I ate it, having had nothing to eat for days.  
After that, things are a bit confused. I walked. And then I was thirsty, very thirsty, for days. I found a small source of water, drank from it and filled my flask, disregarding the risk of getting sick, but it was either that or die. You must've had that kind of difficulty too, Sam?’

Surprised by the sudden question, Sam wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before answering with a sniff:

‘Yes, I also ventured to drink water without knowing if it would poison me. Oh, Mr. Frodo, and to think that I could have met you, and found you, and all the while I thought you were dead!’

‘It had to be so, you had a job to finish. You were approaching Mount Doom as I sought to leave this accursed land as quickly as possible. But I got lost, I couldn't find my way, and I think I was a little delirious, too. I remember seeing the armies of Mordor in the distance, they were setting out. I tremble today to know that you, my friends, had to face them! Twice I watched these troops move, not remembering the days that had passed between. Disoriented, I thought I would get closer to Cirith Ungol, find the passage and risk taking the tunnel again. But I must have gone around in circles for many days before I realised that I wasn't going anywhere. Shagrat's bad bread was disappearing before my very eyes and I didn't know how to get out of this maze of stones and dust. Also, the idea that Sam was out there, alone, haunted me more and more. Oh, Sam, I was going crazy! I could see you, dressed in a golden cloak, with flowers in your hair, but then I knew that you had claimed the Ring for yourself, that it was it who gave you that power, and I became enraged! I thought then that you had left me for that purpose alone, that you had followed me only to take the Ring from me. What a monster I've made of you!’

Frodo then turned into Sam's embrace and held him with all his might. The two Hobbits remained like that for a while, embracing and comforting each other.

‘Forgive me!’ Frodo murmured. ‘You, who resisted the call of the One so well, you didn't deserve to be doubted so.’

‘You are all forgiven. It wasn't difficult to resist when my heart was so empty. Without you by my side, the Ring could have given me all the gold in the world, it meant nothing to me.’

‘Oh, Sam,’ Frodo sighed.

The silence extended a little longer before Frodo finally turned around to look at the other three Hobbits, Sam's arms still firmly wrapped around him.

‘I remember well enough the moment when the earth shook and I saw, in the distance, the tower of Barad-dur collapsing. At that moment, I realised that Sam had succeeded. Oh, how proud I was! And then... I was afraid, too. The Ring wasn't there anymore, it was really gone. It left an emptiness inside me, and I didn't know what was to become of me! I came across several orcs running away without even looking at me. I followed the direction they were going and ended up close to Cirith Ungol again. The tower had collapsed, like all of Sauron's work. It gave me hope. If the world was saved, if the shadows were cast aside, perhaps I could find help.’

Frodo stopped and Merry served him another cup of tea. All the Hobbits drank in silence. Frodo's story affected each of the companions in a different way, but all were upset to hear him tell his story. Sam rested his cup on the little side table by the chair he shared with Frodo. What he had just heard lasted only a few days, a few weeks at the most, after he had seen his master be taken by the orcs. He trembled at the thought of finding out what had happened to Frodo next: had he had to face Shelob again? Had the orcs who were fleeing Mordor done him any harm?

‘I think I'm a little tired,’ said Frodo as he stood up. ‘I'll tell you later what happened next.’

Sam rose hastily to his feet. Blood started flowing back into his legs all of a sudden and he wobbled a little. Frodo caught him up and smiled:

‘Well, I guess I’ve become heavier than I realise. My poor Sam, you're all numb.’

‘It's nothing,’ Sam whispered, a little confused.

‘Go and rest, you two,’ said Fatty, ‘we'll take care of things.’

Sam walked Frodo to the room and helped him into bed. He hesitated to follow him, not wanting to intrude on his intimacy when he had just shared such a difficult story. But Frodo beckoned him to join him, and Sam huddled up with him.

‘I know this must be very hard for you to hear, everything I'm saying,’ he whispered. ‘And I still don't know your part of the adventure. Merry and Pippin told me about it, without too many details. Will you tell me?’

‘If I have to,’ answered Sam in a small voice. ‘But there's not much to know, except long hours of walking, hunger and thirst, and then the last struggle with Gollum in the Cracks of Doom, Gollum falling into the flames, and the Ring with him.’

‘But you resisted its call,’ said Frodo softly, caressing Sam's cheek in the dark.

‘I didn't have time to know whether I would resist or not. I could hear it calling me, lulling me with words of comfort, telling me you were alive. How I wanted to hear it! So, yes, I stayed my hand, to enjoy this sweet dream it was whispering, in which I saw you coming back. And then Gollum appeared. And I don't know whether I fought so that I could throw away the Ring, or so that I could listen to it whisper his lies to me again. And what lies! It was all true.’

‘You should be proud for not believing it, Sam. It doesn't really matter that it was telling the truth, its only purpose was to tempt you.’

‘In the end, it was Gollum who saved us all.’

‘I think, my dear Sam, it is safe to say that you helped him a little,’ said Frodo in an amused voice.

Sam held him a little tighter against him. After a while he asked in a hesitant voice:

‘Mr. Frodo, may I kiss you?’

With a slight laugh, Frodo nodded and moved closer to Sam. Their lips touched shyly. Neither of them dared deepen the kiss... They hugged each other, enjoying the silence... The next day, Frodo would no doubt resume his story. But for now, Sam was happy to hold him close and to forget the darkness they had both been through. Before joining the others for dinner, they dozed off.


	11. The prisoner

Frodo and the other Hobbits gathered the next day in the living room at teatime, and, as the day before, Frodo began to tell what had happened to him. Words seemed to come easily to him, like the flow of a dam that breaks after containing a sleeping lake for too long.

‘Before I took the path of Cirith Ungol again, I ventured near the tower and into the rubble. I had to find, if I could, something to fill Shagrat's bag. I found the same black bread, a bundle of dried meat which, to this day, I dare not wonder what kind it was, and managed to reach the well where I could fill my flask and a gourd which I picked up there and that still contained a bit of sticky liquor. I think I rested under a boulder for at least a whole day to regain my strength before reaching Shelob’s tunnel. I was still terrified to face the monster, and all I had was Shagrat's knife and my mithril shirt to protect me — and it had failed me the first time! So I took my time to return to the cursed place, taking small steps and listening for the slightest noise that might indicate danger.  
When I finally got there — I don't know how to tell you this without making you all sick! Many stones had fallen down in front of the entrance, which had been the way out for Sam and me, if you remember. Some huge boulders had fallen down and an unbearable smell emanated from there. It was still dark, so I did not immediately find out where it came from. It was only when I got closer that I understood: the stones that had come loose from the mountain had crushed Shelob! She was lying there, her legs curled up under her, her abdomen pierced by the rock and letting out a stream of black, foul-smelling blood. I remember throwing up, once more.  
But I was relieved that the dreaded monster would not come to harm me as I crossed her lair, and I was now quite sure that I would not meet any orcs. I still had to find a way to get into the tunnel; the entrance was blocked by the stones and rocks that had collapsed when the earth had shaken.’

The Hobbits listening to Frodo were holding their breath. Sam, who had fought the giant spider and could see what it looked like, could only imagine how Frodo must have felt when he saw that this terrible creature had perished in such a trivial way. He was glad, however, that Frodo had been ridden of the dreaded obstacle; the thought that he would have had to face Shelob again had filled him with terror.

Frodo, sitting very close to Sam in a cozy loveseat, took a sip of his tea before continuing.

‘Once I had spotted a way through, I managed to sneak into the cave without too much difficulty. I don't know if minutes or hours had passed as I groped around in the dark, but I remember the terrifying roar of the rocks when the earth shook again, very slightly. And I knew, then, because the air suddenly changed, that the passage was closed.’

Pippin let out a shocked exclamation.

‘Closed... on both sides?’ he asked, and squeezed Merry's hand so hard that his cousin winced.

‘I wasn't sure, but I felt it must be so, yes.’

‘And was it really?’ Merry asked.

‘Yes, it was. I don't know how long it took me to cross the maze of stones: it was completely dark, and only my instinct guided me to what I thought was the way out. But when I finally breathed a trickle of fresh air, so faint that I thought I was dreaming it, there was no more doubt. Everywhere I touched, my hands could only find fallen rocks and stones. I tried to climb the rubble, thinking that the way out would be just on the other side, but when I got to the top I hit my head on the ceiling of the cave! I tumbled all the way down and, as I continued my blind exploration, I realised that I was a prisoner.’

Sam shivered and wrapped his arm a little tighter around Frodo.

‘I thought I was going crazy. I couldn't see anything, nothing at all. I had to get out. I couldn't be stuck there, not after all I'd done. I thought of you, Sam, and I wept, thinking how you'd grieve if I had to die in that sordid tomb. I wanted to live, to see the Shire and all of Middle-earth now rid of evil! But I felt condemned to end my days away from all my loved ones, in this darkness and stench.  
But then I got myself together: this scree was new, perhaps I could, with patience, clear it up. So I ate some bread, took a sip of water, and set to work. I don't remember exactly how the days went by, I relied on my sense of smell to determine in which direction to dig, which stone to move to clear a passage. I was exhausted at first, driven by urgency and terror. Soon, my food and water supplies ran out. I had to leave this part of the cave in search of water and food. When I could not find a spring, I decided to lick the walls of the cave where water drops were slowly flowing downing. This way, I could fill my flask, but it was a very slow business, and I had to leave it in place for several days for it to be full. In the meantime, I slept a lot.’

Frodo paused, his breath panting a little. Sam felt him hesitate.

‘What about food?’ Fatty asked in a soft voice, ‘Have you managed to catch some salamander, maybe?’

‘Oh... for that... my friends, I don't know if it is appropriate to tell you.’

‘We're here to hear what you need to tell us,’ Merry whispered with encouragement, ‘Nothing you say will change our opinion of you, Frodo.’

Frodo swallowed, took a deep breath and, in a trembling voice, he said:

‘For the food, to tell the truth, it wasn't the hardest part. Shelob had... a well-stocked larder, so to speak.’

Sam stifled a sob. He had seen with his own eyes what this larder was all about. To imagine Frodo had had to feed himself like that was unthinkable. He felt Frodo’s body spasm against him but, after a deep breath, the discomfort passed.

‘The first time, I gave back everything I had swallowed. The idea, more than the taste, was unbearable. But soon both my body and my head realised that it was either eat this or die. And I hadn't spent endless hours in total darkness only to starve to death. Every day, I felt it, I was getting closer to the exit. I say every day, but I didn't know the difference between day and night. I dug with my fingers and the orc’s knife, I moved stones, I pushed rocks, and then I slept. I slept so much.  
The first time the tunnel I had started to form in the rubble collapsed, I thought I would have to give up and let myself die. A big rock had fallen on my foot, and I felt, since I couldn't see it, that it was swollen and twisted.’

In front of his mute audience, Frodo stretched out his right foot: the bruising was still visible and would never go away, and the bones had mended unevenly. Tears rolling silently down his cheeks, Sam gently took Frodo's ankle and placed the injured foot in his lap.

‘Oh, Mr. Frodo,’ he murmured.

‘I can hardly believe that the outcome of this story is you sitting here among us and having tea,’ Fredegar whispered.

‘Me neither,’ replied Frodo, with a laugh and tears in his eyes.

There was another silence during which everyone came to their senses a little. Sam stroked with great care the foot that he kept holding on his knees and Frodo gave him a smile that was meant to be comforting but which brought tears to both of their eyes. Frodo wiped his tears with the back of his sleeve and continued his story.

‘In my misfortune, though, I was lucky: when my tunnel had collapsed, it had made a small opening in another place. I could feel the air coming in, fresher, less smelly and, after a time I couldn't measure precisely, I felt the first small animals coming to take refuge in my cave. Then, I understood that summer was coming to an end: I had been crawling in the dark for months. I started digging, scratching, and moving stones again. Now I could see a small ray of pale light, and I could tell the difference between day and night. My eyes were so accustomed to the complete darkness that I did not immediately understand what I was seeing. In the shadows, I managed to catch some fat field mice that came to spend winter in the cave. This must seem strange to you, but I thought I had never tasted anything so good.’

‘I can understand you,’ said Pippin in a small voice. ‘Even the worst piece of mouldy bread must be a feast under these circumstances.’

‘Yes, exactly. And then, after a while, I realised that if there were now mice in that cave, perhaps the evil in this land had left for good! This gave me hope and I went on with my work. I became more methodical, using the larger stones to secure the passage. When I finally cleared a way out, I felt, like a punch in the face, the cold, damp air of an autumn night sweep over me.’

‘Hurrah!’ exclaimed Fatty and Pippin, who had been holding their breath for most of the story.

‘I would have liked to rejoice as you do, but the starlight was so blinding that I crawled back in my hole for many hours before I dared come out for good.’

‘Oh, Frodo,’ sighed Merry, ‘what an ordeal you have overcome!’

‘I think I cried when I finally made it out. It was raining. I just stayed there in the falling rain, lying on the ground. After a while I remember taking off all my clothes and rubbing my body to get rid of the filth from that cave. I even tried to clean my rags; what strange thoughts we have in those moments! I filled my flask and my water skin, and drank from my cupped hands since the rain was coming down so heavily. It did not bode well for the way down the stairs, but it did not matter to me.’

Frodo paused again to catch his breath. Sam felt that he was trembling slightly, or was he the one shivering? He pressed himself a little closer to Frodo, gently rubbing his arms as if to warm him up. He imagined him naked, skinny, in the rain near the tunnel exit, in that dark and rocky landscape. In autumn, he had said. Where was he in the autumn of that year? In Rivendell, most certainly, or perhaps already on his way to Bree or Frogmorton. Regret clutched at his throat so tightly that he could only burst into tears to breathe. Burying his face against Frodo's shoulder, he couldn't help but cry his heart out.

‘Sam,’ Frodo whispered, comforting him, ‘I know now, there's nothing you could have done to prevent that. But you mustn't be sad. Because I understood, at that moment, when I finally came out of that disgusting hole, that the world had changed. The air was filled with this new freshness. It made me all confused. I carefully went down the steps of the secret staircase. Sometimes I had to take some risks because the face of the mountain had broken in places, but I went down nonetheless. Terrified of being seen by anyone, I walked at night and slept during the day in the shade of the rocks. It was bitterly cold and yet I avoided the rays of the sun which now shone even in this desolate part of the world.  
When I finally approached Minas Morgul, the home of the Nazgûl seemed strangely harmless. It was like lighting a lamp to dispel the shadows that worry children and give them nightmares, and discovering that what they were afraid of was just a coat left on a chair. There was nothing but a mere stone tower there, standing like a grotesque empty shell. I think I laughed like a lunatic at that moment.’

Too exhausted to give any more details about his adventure, Frodo briefly summarised what had followed his months of confinement in Shelob's cave. Scared at the idea of meeting orcs or even Men, Frodo had taken hidden paths, slowly going up the Anduin. He had found shelter from the cold of winter, and had managed to find some food by hunting and gathering what he could. During those long icy months, he had had to stop moving forward. The abandoned hut where he had taken refuge was still equipped with one or two moth-eaten blankets and he had even managed to make fire. When spring had returned, Frodo had found it difficult to leave his shelter, gradually losing the sense of his journey and the hope of seeing his friends again. When he explained this, all the Hobbits gathered around him and hugged him tightly, tears of joy and sorrow running down their cheeks.


	12. The captive

It took several days for Frodo to resume his story. Revealing to his friends what he had had to do in order to survive made him sick two nights in a row, waking up in the middle of a nightmare before rushing to the chamber pot to vomit. Sam woke up with him, gently stroking his back and hair as he emptied his stomach in painful spasms. He would then take him to the washstand to help him freshen up. Frodo would then indulge in noisy and liberating sobs, the ones he held back as he told his story in the afternoons. He allowed himself to feel sorry for his own fate, in the arms of Sam who cradled him against his heart.

‘Only you have seen what I have become, Sam,’ he moaned. ‘Like Gollum, fearing the light of day and the company of others. I saw myself becoming more like him every day, even though my steps were gradually bringing me closer to home. And how I resented you! I would spend days wondering what you were doing, if you were thinking about me, hoping that you had forgotten me, and hating you for it! I was going crazy, I had become crazy!’

Sam couldn't answer without crying in turn, so he held him a little tighter and rocked him gently.

‘You had every right to be angry with me,’ Sam finally whispered. ‘It's natural that you felt all those things! You'd been through so much already, with the Ring, and the orcs, and the tunnel... Oh, Mr. Frodo, don't ever think that I could blame you for losing faith in me. How could I be angry with you? I've lost faith in myself many times too, and I've cursed myself more than you will ever curse me.’

‘Oh, Sam…'

‘But to have found you, to see you and touch you, well, glory and trumpets! It's the most beautiful thing possible, and it surpasses by far all the pain of losing you.’

At these words Frodo laughed, and Sam felt his heart swell with gratitude.

‘We've been very shy with each other ever since I ran away from the Gaffer’s with Merry and Pippin,’ Frodo said in a somewhat shameful voice. ‘I'd like you to kiss me again, if you don't mind. And maybe... maybe some other things too, if you don't find the idea too repulsive now…'

‘Never!’ exclaimed Sam forcefully.

There was so much vehemence in his protest that Frodo laughed again. And Sam, encouraged by this light sound, leaned over to kiss Frodo. There was nothing shy about that kiss. Frodo let out a little moan of surrender, marvelling at finding in the embrace of this familiar companion the thrill of desire. Sam let his hands wander a little over his master's body, dazzled to find, instead of the sharp feel of bones protruding under skin, the softness of flesh. His fingers slipped under the nightshirt, uncovering a thigh and lingering on a hip. He hesitated. Frodo took his hand and kissed it.

‘Don't do anything you don't want to do,’ he whispered.

‘I wouldn't want to do anything you wouldn't me want to do, Frodo.’

There was a silence, then Frodo chuckled before laughing for good.

‘Sam,’ he said, taking a breath, ‘we're not going to get very far, you and I, at this rate.’

‘It's not a race,’ Sam replied, his face flushed.

'No, of course it isn't. I feel I've embarrassed you. I'm sorry. I promise to tell you, if you do something I don't like. And I expect the same from you.’

‘Okay,’ Sam answered in a small voice.

They kissed again. The weariness of the disrupted night caught up with them as their hands began their lazy exploration again. Their mouths quenched a new thirst and their whole bodies pressed together. The embrace lost its vigour as their eyelids grew heavy, and soon they fell asleep.

The next day, when Frodo told the rest of his journey, he settled in Sam's lap as he had done the first time, Sam’s arms firmly wrapped around his waist. There was nothing intimate about the way they held each other, and Sam marvelled at being able to hug Frodo like this without the others finding fault with it.

‘Where was I?’ Frodo asked, resting his cup of tea on the pedestal table.

‘You were telling us about wintering in a small hut between the Anduin and Mirkwood.’

‘Oh, yes, that’s it. Winter. I actually stayed there until the middle of spring. I think I was trying — in vain — to get healthy again. I slept all the time, and tried to eat wild fruit. As if this kind of food would chase away the abominations I had fed my body. I chewed on aromatic herbs, not that it filled my stomach much, but I think they saved my teeth!’

‘It's quite possible,’ said Sam seriously. ‘And if you ate thyme or rosemary you probably avoided some infections. It wasn't a bad idea.’

‘You're too good to me, Sam. Anyway, in the middle of spring I set off again, still following the Anduin. It was the easiest way not to get lost, but certainly not the quickest route. I remember crossing the old forest road, I knew that if I followed it westward, through the mountains I would reach Rivendell. It was an enticing idea. But, for some reason, I was terrified that the elves would see me, and even more terrified that Bilbo would find out what I had become. I was obsessed with going back to the Shire, but terrified of being seen by anyone. It's absurd, isn't it?’

‘Not at all,’ said Pippin in a soft voice. ‘You've suffered so much, Frodo, it's natural that you've been muddled and inconsistent.’

‘You're very kind, Pippin.’

‘So you didn't take the road?’ asked Fatty.

‘No, I kept going. It was madness, I had to cross that river some day, to reach my goal, and the ford there was my best option. But I went on, I passed the Carrock which Bilbo mentioned in his adventures. And at last, many weeks later, I arrived at a place where the Anduin was narrow enough to risk crossing on foot or by swimming. In spite of the summer heat, the river at this place close to the mountains was very cold, fortunately I found a passage shallow enough and was wet only up to my waist. Then I had to find a way to cross the mountain range that still separated me from the western regions. And autumn was approaching! I decided to attempt a crossing in spite of everything, and this is how I lost many more months away from you, my friends. I lost my way, of course. The rocky maze was unfamiliar to me, and I was very weak, too weak to brave the mountain. I found refuge in a cave — I guess I had become accustomed to such places by now. It did not stink like Shelob's cave, but food was scarce, and the provisions I had gleaned along the way were very small. I had kept one of the blankets from the hut on the Anduin with me, and I managed to make fire. I would have frozen to death otherwise, no doubt.  
When the weather turned fine again, I wandered around the mountains for a few more weeks before I came back to a path, probably an old road — I'll have to look in the old maps of Bilbo. When I finally came down to the plains, I walked along the river Hoarwell. I had been sheltered in the mountains, among the rocks and caves, but I was still afraid of meeting trolls there. So I walked only in daylight, trying to stay out of sight, and stopped to rest only in hiding places so narrow that I did not risk to be caught.’

‘And did you see any trolls?’ Pippin asked.

‘I saw some from a distance. But I think that my unappetising smell kept me from their curiosity.’

‘But, Frodo,’ said Merry, ‘you were only a few weeks' walk from Bree, at the most. Why didn't we find you sooner?’

‘My dear Merry,’ replied Frodo with a sad laugh. ‘It’s just that fate was not finished with me! Exhausted and determined to complete my journey, in spite of the delirium that made me fear to see you all again, I finally reached the East Road. I was terrified of running into someone: my appearance could not inspire trust and I had no strength to defend myself. When I finally met a group of merchants, I was surprised to find them so friendly. They seemed worried about my condition, and gave me water and bread. I thought that the end of my ordeal had come, when they caught me and locked me in a cage they had hidden under a canvas in their wagon.’

‘The scoundrels!’ exclaimed Sam, outraged.

‘I thought they were going to turn me over to the nearest local authority, but they did not. I traveled with them for several days without understanding who they were or what they wanted from me. When we arrived in a small village, I realised that my captors were a bunch of entertainers. They were doing tricks, music, pantomime, and I was the highlight of their show.’

‘No!’ said Fredegar angrily. ‘But why?’

‘You haven't seen me at my worst,’ replied Frodo softly. ‘I looked very much like a creature of Mordor, I think. I was dirty and smelly and very thin and pale, like a cave beast. And their trade consisted in giving the people who had suffered from Sauron's sinister works the satisfaction of seeing his servants humiliated and beaten. I was put on the stage and had to fight one of the men in a choreography that was meant to ridicule me. They fed me enough to keep me alive, but I was still very weak, too weak to even cry. Once this mock fight was over, the audience was invited to insult me and throw all sorts of things at me. It was often stones, rotten fruit, sometimes even worse. They often had a word for a fallen loved one, a burnt crop, a destroyed house. These people had suffered, and they were hungry for revenge. That is what I was exposed to, that was the injustice I was making right, if just for a night.’

Sam was furious. To imagine that Frodo could have been treated like that! He, who had contributed at the cost of his life — or his health at least — to put down the enemy of those who then revelled in seeing him suffer! It was more than he could bear. He gently removed Frodo from his lap and apologised. He stumbled outside where he unleashed his anger on the first tree stump he found. He punched it until his knuckles were bloody and he fell to the ground in tears. A hand rested on his shoulder and he turned around.

‘We're all angry,’ said Pippin in a soft voice. ‘All this is terribly unfair.’

‘The monsters…’ hiccupped Sam as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘I don't know what kind of sentence would be just to punish such viciousness!’

‘This is not the time for this, Sam. Frodo needs us to listen to him, and most of all he needs you.’

‘Yes, you're right, Mr. Pippin, but that's why I got out. I didn't want Mr. Frodo to be affected by my anger.’

‘That's very kind of you. Will you please come back now?’

Sam nodded and Pippin took his arm. Before entering the house, he stopped him and embraced him fiercely.

‘Thank you for everything you've done for him,’ Pippin whispered. ‘And thank you for saving us from seeing him when he was at his worst.’

‘I did it for him as much as for you,’ Sam answered.

‘I know you did. But still, it was very brave of you.’

There was silence and they parted.

‘Your poor hands!’ exclaimed Pippin. ‘Go and put them under cold water, we're waiting for you.’

Sam took Pippin's advice and joined the others in the parlour. When Frodo saw him enter, he gave him a worried look and Sam smiled faintly. He returned to his place in the armchair with Frodo on his knees and dared place a kiss on his temple. Merry spoke up:

‘We've heard of these entertainers who take poor creatures on stage to be lynched by mobs... Some of them tried to come and perform in the Shire, but we made sure that they were banned. We had no idea then that you had suffered from it, too.’

‘And that only proves your kindness,’ said Frodo with a smile. ‘During my captivity, I had several companions of misfortune. Creatures I would have wished dead a few years earlier, but whom I pitied now. Orcs, most of them. Those who were caught were often in a very bad shape and I had little to fear from them. The poor things were stoned to death by the raging crowd.’

‘And you didn't have your mithril shirt on, to protect you?’

‘I had been searched and stripped of my knife and mithril shirt the very first day. The jesters had no idea how valuable it was, otherwise they would probably have gotten rid of me and stopped their dishonest trade for good. I remember feeling deprived of a part of me, as if the last thread that tied me to who I was had been broken. After all, this shirt could have helped my former companions to recognise me! But I think I decided, at that moment, that survival was what mattered most.’

‘Didn't you try to plead your case? To tell them who you were?’ asked Fatty.

‘Alas, I was deprived of the skill of speech, then. I had gone two years without speaking to anyone. I was already having trouble understanding them, as if they were speaking a language I had known a long time ago and that now escaped me. No, I could only hope they wouldn't kill me. They would feed me and, even though we were heading south and away from home, I would take advantage of being carried in a wagon to rest. In the end, even though the regular performances we gave were a real torture for my aching body and mind, I was rather better off than I had been.’

‘Frodo,’ said Merry, ‘only you could say such a thing!’

‘You're too generous with these scoundrels,’ said Pippin.

‘I don't forgive them, don't think I can be so charitable! But I must admit that I regained some strength during that time. And so we travelled to the mouth of the Greyflood River. There we spent the autumn and part of the winter. The company had sold my chain mail and divided the gold among themselves. I think that caused some tension between them. And I'm sure they didn't get a tenth of its value for it. But still, it was a real fortune to them. They took advantage of their money to take shelter during the cold season and to afford quality lodgings. I often slept chained in the stable with the animals and this was the warmest I had felt in a long time.  
Even though I was a prisoner, I think that this period was helpful since it got me used to the presence of others again. Language especially, came back to me slowly, and I tried to talk to myself, as if I was trying to operate an old rusty machinery again. And then, one day, we started travelling the road back north. I don't know how many weeks went by, but I still remember clearly the evening when one of my captors announced to the others that our next stop would be the last one before we reached Bree.’


	13. The company

‘We'll soon get to the part in the story where I find you at last,’ said Frodo with a sad smile. ‘But it’s getting quite late, and you must be starving!’

‘Let's have dinner,’ said Fatty, ‘and if you feel up to it, you can tell us the end of your journey afterwards, while we wait for supper.’

‘If you don't mind, I will. I'm quite eager to get rid of this tale. But first, a good meal won't hurt me. I'm starving!’

‘Those are wise words, Frodo,' said Merry. ‘Well, let's eat, then!’

Sam insisted on serving, he had prepared a mutton stew and gave generous portions of it to everyone, accompanied by potatoes and a nice slice of bread. He carefully chose the best pieces for Frodo and no one teased him about it.

After dinner, they gathered once again in the living room, to digest their stew and hear the rest of the story. The end was near, and everyone was curious to know how Frodo had escaped from the troop of rogues who had held him prisoner. Sam, sitting beside Frodo, never let go of his hand.

‘There was only one way out of that cage. I had to die. Oh, of course, I wasn't really planning on dying. You see, I had heard news from the Shire, and if at first I shivered to hear there had been fighting, I soon realised that peace had been restored. I did not know that you, my friends, were responsible for it, but my heart felt that you had something to do with the restored order. That gave me hope. My country was safe, maybe I could go back there, even if I had to hide in the woods for the rest of my life. But to do that, I had to die.  
The village where we stopped at before Bree was tiny, but I think people from surrounding hamlets had gathered there that night. When my turn to go up the stage came, I let them insult me, spit on me, and throw stones and dung at me — it had become a habit, unfortunately. I remember feeling the impact of every stone against my skin. The jesters always made sure I didn't get hit by too big a rock — keeping me alive was in their best interest. So, the stone that hit my head then couldn't have killed me. But I was weak, sickly, and collapsing didn't seem, then, an exaggerated act of comedy. I even feigned convulsions, and that put an end to the show. The jesters took me to their camp and gave me a good shake, but I held firm and remained unconscious to their eyes. They put me back in the cage where I fell asleep just where they left me. The next day, one of them came to check on me, and as I had not moved, he announced to the others that it was the end. Then, just as they were breaking camp, they dropped me off on the side of the road and gave me something to drink. At first I thought it was to wake me up, but the truth was much crueler than that. If I was dead, I had to be dead for good. It was some kind of poison. As I pretended to be inert, most of the liquid ran down my chin and neck, and I closed my throat with my tongue so that I did not swallow much of it in the end.  
When they were finally gone, I made myself vomit forcefully. Yet I felt a kind of uneasiness creeping in on me little by little. I looked around and found athelas. I tore out whole handfuls of it and chewed on it. I fell asleep again after that and thought the end had come. But when I woke up I realised that the plant had probably saved my life. I had a fever, my stomach was burning, but I was alive.  
I followed the road, hiding on the roadside, towards Bree. After a few days, I cut through the fields to the west until I reached the Brandywine. I followed it, and risked venturing through the Old Forest to avoid being seen. When, at last, I reached the junction between The Water and the Brandywine, I was exhausted, still feverish, but so light! And then, after more efforts, I was approaching Bywater when my strength failed me. That's where I was found. And I believe you know the rest.’

An overwhelming silence followed his last words. The four Hobbits who had listened to the story looked at Frodo without daring to speak, amazed by the immensity of what their companion had endured during those three years when everyone thought he was dead. It was Pippin who broke the silence first; choking a sob, he crossed the living room in two strides to go and hug Frodo.

‘I'm never going to want to let you out of my sight again,’ he said, crying.

‘Pippin…'

The others joined them in an embrace that made Frodo disappear under a pile of sobbing Hobbits.

‘I'm so glad you can tell us all this yourself,’ Fatty said, breaking free, his eyes red. ‘Because at least I know it all ended well. But still! So much hardship!’

‘And for a single Hobbit!’ Merry said, rising to his feet. ‘Our own adventures seem easy compared to yours. But then, I had a feeling you hadn't spent three years practicing crochet…’

At that, Frodo laughed. Pippin, in turn, stepped aside and only Sam remained, in the sofa next to Frodo, his hand still holding firmly on to his master's. He said nothing.

‘I think your story has spoilt my appetite,’ said Pippin. ‘That's how upset I am! But knowing that it is Men who have treated you the worst, that makes my skin crawl! We have to do something.’

‘And what are you going to do, Peregrin Took?’ asked Fatty. ‘You're not going to start chasing after those rascals?'

‘And why not?’

‘Because, no matter how tall you've become, and no matter how skilled with a blade, you're still a Hobbit. I'd like to see you fight a whole bunch of big people alone!’

‘I'm not afraid of that!’

‘Chasing those robbers won't do any good,’ Merry cut them off. ‘We've got to stop them from carrying on their dirty trade all over Middle-earth, just as we have done here.’

‘We must write to the king,’ said Sam, his voice a little distant.

All the Hobbits turned to him. Merry's face lit up.

‘Excellent! You're absolutely right, Sam. If Aragorn finds out what has happened, he will have them arrested and put an end to these shameful practices.’

‘Aragorn,’ Frodo whispered. ‘Sometimes I forget that he is king now.’

‘Will you give him the news of your return?’ Sam asked softly.

‘Yes, Sam, I think it's time. And you're right, my friends, it's a good thing to ask the king to intervene. I'm thinking of myself, of course, but I also feel a great deal of pity for the poor creatures who are undergoing this torture. After all, it is not their fault that the master who made them was evil, and — as Gandalf once said to me — we should not be too eager to deal out death in judgement.’

The prospect of being able to act on what Frodo had told them seemed to give the small group a new strength. While before they had only been able to listen and weep over Frodo’s tragic fate — against which they could no longer do anything, they now had a very clear mission that gave them all some form of power over events. If they could not change the past, they could help give justice as best they could. At any rate, this gave them an appetite for supper. As they ate, the Hobbits debated what to write in the letter, who should write it, and seemed to have reached a consensus when Sam — who had said very little during the whole meal — spoke up.

‘Writing a letter will waste a lot of time,' he said as if lost in his own thoughts.

‘What do you mean?’ Frodo asked him, putting one hand on his wrist.

‘I'm not happy to suggest it, but I'm afraid we'll have to go there.’

At these words, the others looked at him with wide eyes.

‘You can’t be serious! After all our poor Frodo has been through, to go back on the roads so soon, when he's only just arrived!’ exclaimed Fatty.

‘I don't want it any more than you do,’ Sam replied. ‘But if we write to King Aragorn that Frodo is alive, he will certainly want to give some celebration in his honour. As he has done before…’

His voice died in a sob and tears rolled down his cheeks.

‘Oh, Sam,’ said Pippin. ‘Don't think about it anymore. But you're probably right, yes. Our dear Strider will probably not know whether to start the festivities in Frodo’s honour, or to chase down the rascals who captured him himself!’

‘Don't talk nonsense now, Pippin,’ said Frodo embarrassed, ‘a king has much better things to do than that.’

‘But this king is not just any king!’

‘Well, well,' Merry cut with authority. ‘In any case, Sam is right. It's probably smarter to go straight to Minas Tirith. That is, if you're willing to make such a journey, Frodo?’

There was silence. Frodo looked down at Sam who bowed his head and gazed into his empty plate.

‘Minas Tirith,’ he whispered. ‘I've always dreamed of visiting this city! I want to go, as long as I can find a way to get there that doesn't require me to walk. I have the ability, but the idea of walking again in that direction is making me tired already.’

‘No problem! said Merry, ‘finding a cart and ponies is not very difficult. Pippin, I suppose you're coming too?’

‘Of course I am! May I remind you that I'm still a guard of the Citadel.’

‘Well, there’s not much left of that but a mere title and a slightly too small livery, is there?’ Merry joked. ‘Very well, then. Sam?’

‘You don't have to ask me,’ answered Sam in a small voice. ‘Wherever Mr. Frodo goes, I go too.’

Merry did not question him further, although his uneasiness was palpable. Frodo took his hand and squeezed it...

‘Fatty,’ Merry continued, ‘coming with us is not very dangerous this time.’

‘Indeed, and it’s even less dangerous to stay at home. I've had quite enough adventures with Sharku and his gang, thank you very much.’

Then, it was decided. Preparations would begin the next day so that the company would be ready to leave within three days. Fatty would go tell the Gaffer that Sam was making a small detour before returning to Bag End. That would leave him the opportunity to tend to the Baggins' estate in and around Hobbiton, and he would relay important messages if necessary.  
After supper, Sam and Frodo retired to Frodo's little room. Sam was still in a rather somber mood. Preparing for bed, Frodo wondered what was upsetting him so: everyone had been excited about righting the wrongs Frodo had undergone, and Frodo himself had been comforted by the prospect of seeing Aragorn again and finally taking charge of his own destiny. But Sam remained locked up in his dark mood. At first, Frodo had felt sorry for him, and guilty for having plunged him into sadness. But then, he became irritated by it.

‘Aren't you coming to bed?’ he asked in a slightly curt voice as he slipped under the sheets.

‘I'm coming, Mr. Frodo,’ replied Sam, putting on his nightshirt.

Sam settled down beside him and Frodo turned to him, looking at him with a serious, almost stern look.

‘Well, what's going on? You haven't spoken for the last hour. It is as if you were the one to whom all those things had happened.’

Sam blushed violently, tears coming to his eyes. The remark hurt and shamed him.

‘I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo, you're right, of course. I should be the one to support you, not the other way round.’

‘Well, don't be so embarrassed, Sam,’ said Frodo, who couldn’t bring himself to be gentle again. ‘You’ve seen how everyone was looking forward to this trip, and I am so glad to see these places known to you all. Can't you rejoice for me?’

Sam nodded his head vigorously, clenching his jaw and trying to put on a brave face. But his lip was trembling, and he finally burst into tears, unable to hold them back any longer.

For Frodo, it was too much. He didn't have the strength to comfort Sam. It was just like he had told him: all these misadventures had not happened to Sam. And even though he was touched to see his companion so moved by his misfortune, it wasn't what he needed right now. Leaving Sam to his tears, he got up, left the bedroom and went to the living room to smoke his pipe. There, he was not really surprised to find Merry and Pippin still awake, sitting by the fire and discussing the final details of their forthcoming journey.

‘Do you have trouble sleeping, Frodo?’ Pippin asked in a voice full of gentle understanding.

‘I... I needed to be away from Sam for a few moments.’

‘Why is that?’

‘He's been in a somber mood for a while now, he doesn't talk... and then he started crying and I don’t really understand why. I appreciate his sympathy, but I must admit it bothers me, too.’

‘Frodo!’ exclaimed Pippin.

And without further explanation, he rushed to Frodo's bedroom. Frodo was a little worried, and Merry said:

‘Sit down, Frodo. Sit down. There are a few things you don't understand, I can see that.’

‘Is Sam…'

‘Don't worry about Sam, Pippin will take care of him. He's used to it. Oh, don't make those eyes, you know nobody will ever take your place in the heart of our good old Gamgee.’

‘Why don't you tell me what’s going on, instead of being silly?’

‘Yes, sorry. You should know that... Minas Tirith, for all of us is a place of joy and sorrow. Joy because that is where the war ended — at least that is what we thought before we came back here — because that is where we got reunited with most of our companions and celebrated the end of our suffering. And sorrow because…’

He paused, obviously fighting a sob that he struggled to swallow.

‘That's where we buried you, Frodo. It was symbolic, of course, but now there's an engraved marble flagstone in the city and even a statue dedicated to your memory. It was a sad and dark time when we all reunited. But for Sam... For Sam, who had carried the Ring on his empty heart after losing you, the city was never anything but a graveyard. I didn't see him smile once, even when he found out Gandalf was still alive, even when the whole city gathered to celebrate his achievement and sing his praises. Pippin spent many nights at his bedside, terrified that he would decide to... follow you.’

At these words, his voice broke.

‘It got better with time,’ he continued. ‘When we went to Rivendell we shared happy memories of you with Bilbo.’

‘Bilbo,’ Frodo whispered, his eyes watering.

‘Pippin and I were just discussing the possibility of a detour through Rivendell,’ Merry said, rubbing his eyes, ‘to bring him the good news. If not, we'll get someone from Bree to bring him a message. Perhaps you'd like to write him a letter?’

‘First I must be able to hold a pen again. But tell me more about Sam. How awful of me to have left him like that!’

‘You have a right to be unable to support him, just as he has a right to grieve,’ Merry replied softly. ‘To be quite honest, I did not expect him to suggest that we should go to Minas Tirith. If you wanted a proof of his love for you, you have it here; it is a real challenge for him to go back there. But with you by his side, it should be easier.’

After Merry's story, Frodo took a few more minutes to come to his senses before going back to Sam. He imagined the ceremony that must have taken place in his honour, the sadness of his companions and Sam's despair. He shivered.

As he gently pushed open the door to his room, he finally felt able to welcome Sam's grief and comfort him. Sam was sitting on the bed with the blankets pulled up to his waist, while Pippin, sitting next to him, held his hand. When Pippin saw Frodo enter, he wished Sam a good night and left the room quietly.

‘I'm sorry, Sam,’ Frodo began as he approached the bed.

‘It's not your fault, sir.’

‘I should have been more patient with you, I should have tried to understand you instead of demanding that you rejoice. I should not ask such things of you.’

He sat where Pippin had settled and took Sam's hand in turn.

‘Merry told me... I had no idea what this place meant to you. That you agreed to go anyway…'

‘There's nowhere in the world I wouldn't follow you, you know that.’

‘Sam…'

‘But I won't let go of you!’ he cut fiercely. ‘I'll hold your hand every minute we're there. I'm too afraid I won't find you and think I dreamt it all,’ he added, sweeping the room with a wave of his hand.

‘I promise you to always remain within earshot, but Sam, you have to promise me you won't try to smile for me anymore. I shouldn't have asked you to do that.’

‘Alright.’

To seal the deal, Frodo leaned over Sam and kissed him. With a sigh of relief, Sam gave in to the kiss, wrapping his arms around Frodo.

‘I want you to feel me alive with you, Sam,’ Frodo said, catching his breath.

And, taking off his nightshirt in a single move, he went and straddled Sam, kissing him once more. Sam's hands clasped Frodo’s sides, stroking hesitantly at first, then fervently. The kiss became more languid, their breaths shortened, and soon Sam's nightshirt joined Frodo's on the floor. Frodo's hand reached under the blankets, looking for the warm and throbbing flesh that fit deliciously between his fingers. Sam moaned. Frodo let out a small satisfied laugh. Rising on one knee and then the other, he slid the sheets and blankets down Sam's legs, removing the barrier of fabric that stood between their feverish bodies. Sam, too, grabbed Frodo's sex and gently stroked him. This time, it was Frodo’s turn to moan.

‘Sam,’ he whimpered, ‘Sam, oh, Sam, I love you so!’

In response, Sam kissed him fiercely, his tongue possessive and exploring every part of Frodo's mouth. Their clumsy embrace intensified as their fingers tightened more vigorously around their flesh, swollen with desire. The hand on Frodo's back slid down softly until it grabbed his buttocks and, with a shy finger, Sam fondled the opening there. Grunting, Frodo sped up the rhythm of his hand that slid up and down on Sam's sex.

‘Frodo,’ Sam whispered, breathlessly, ‘I'm going to…’

‘Yes!’

Sam’s finger ventured further in, his hand tightened its grip. Frodo dropped his head on Sam's shoulder, burying his face in his neck. Panting, he felt his whole body tense, the pulse quickening between his legs and, stifling a curse, he came against Sam's belly. Sam followed him right away.  
It took a few minutes for them to catch their breath. Straightening up, Frodo kissed Sam gently. They smiled at each other, still a little amazed by the strength of their desire. With one hand, Sam grabbed one of the nightshirts lying on the floor and quickly wiped their bodies and then they slipped under the sheets. They fell asleep, happy in each other’s arms.


	14. The travellers

The small group set out three days later, in a wagon pulled by a sturdy pony for Frodo and Sam, while Merry and Pippin rode their ponies. The wagon, loaded with food and the Hobbits' traveling gear, was quite comfortable. Sam led the animal as Frodo huddled against him and looked at the landscape, enjoying the rolling green hills and glistening streams in the distance. His mind hadn’t been so peaceful when he had traveled through these lands in the cage of these kidnappers. Often, along the way, Merry or Pippin would bring their pony next to him and they would talk of their own adventures, reminisce about some common memory or sing songs. Sometimes Sam would join his beautiful deep voice with theirs and Frodo marvelled at hearing him. At night, they would settle their small camp and Merry and Pippin would set up their bedrolls under the shelter of the trees while Sam and Frodo shared the wagon. On rainy nights, the four Hobbits huddled together in this shelter, but Merry and Pippin had agreed to leave this comfort to Frodo, to give the two Hobbits some privacy. In fact, Frodo and Sam didn't really take advantage of this luxury, content to share a few kisses and keeping the rest for the comfort of inns. This was true for example in Bree, where the Hobbits stopped at the Prancing Pony, delighted to pay a little visit to good old Mr. Butterbur.

After that, they followed the road south. They sometimes met other travellers, but were never hindered or threatened by anyone, and Frodo realised how much had changed since the Ring had been destroyed. He was always afraid of running into a company of entertainers like those who had captured him, but more out of fear of the reaction of his companions than out of fear for himself. Though he sometimes forgot, he knew that he had changed since those days. But that remained his only fear. The dark creatures that had pursued them in the past, the threat that had grown in the East as they moved towards an uncertain goal, all that seemed to have vanished. There was nothing left but the road, the pleasure of good company and of discovering unknown landscapes and different people.

They were approaching Rohan, and Merry was telling a little more about his ride with the horsemen, when a lone figure appeared on the horizon. He was not the first horseman the company had met on their way, but still they slowed down. Intrigued, Frodo squinted and tried to observe in the distance what about this figure had made his companions react so. He looked at them and understood, as a smile was slowly appearing on their faces, that this was a friendly figure. With a small click of his tongue Sam set the wagon moving at a good speed, and Merry and Pippin sped up their mounts. Soon, Frodo was able to make out more clearly the great white horse on whose back sat a man with long white hair and a white beard.

‘Gandalf! …’ he exclaimed, rising on his seat.

Sam had to hold him back with one hand to prevent him from falling off the wagon. The horseman started galloping towards them, and a few moments later Frodo was face to face with the familiar figure of the wizard.

‘Frodo Baggins,’ said Gandalf in a low voice... ‘You are more than late, my dear Hobbit.’

‘Oh, Gandalf!’

The wizard dismounted and approached the wagon to embrace Frodo. Frodo hugged him with all his strength, tears of joy streaming down his cheeks and onto his old friend's immaculate cloak. Gandalf's own eyes were teary.

‘Old rascal!' cried Pippin as he brought his pony near the wizard. ‘You could at least pretend to be surprised!’

‘But how do you know Frodo’s back?’ Merry asked.

‘Rumours of four Hobbits on their way to Minas Tirith are spreading quickly among travellers these days,’ Gandalf replied amused. ‘And your letter to Bilbo has made quite the stir in Rivendell. I fear it spoiled the surprise for your arrival into the White City.’

‘We are very glad to see you, Mr. Gandalf,’ said Sam. ‘I suppose you'll be making the rest of the journey with us?’

‘I wouldn't miss it for the world,’ he said, giving Frodo a brilliant look.

‘But we don’t mean to make no surprise or anything,’ Sam went on. ‘We're going to see the king, because we have serious business to discuss with him.’

‘Later, Sam, if you don't mind,’ said Frodo, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Gandalf accompanied their small group, riding beside the wagon to have a chat with Frodo, and Merry and Pippin led the way. It was agreed that in a few days they would stop in Edoras, where a banquet would be held in honour of the return of the Shire’s heroes. Sam and Frodo looked forward to discovering together this place that their companions had told them about but that they had never visited.

Travelling with Gandalf gave the Hobbits — and Frodo in particular — an even greater sense of security. Wherever they went, the white wizard was recognised and acclaimed, and when they arrived in Edoras, the Rohirrim formed a guard of honour to greet them. This moved and made a great impression on Frodo.

During the banquet that followed their arrival, the place beside King Eomer was reserved for Frodo, and he was rather intimidated. Fortunately, Merry's familiarity with the Rohirrim and Gandalf's soothing presence made him forget his discomfort. As for Sam, he looked around with admiration, curious about the large, richly decorated hall and enjoyed listening to the conversations and songs. In the evening, in the lodgings they shared, the Hobbits told each other their impressions, and Merry and Pippin were delighted with Frodo and Sam’s enchantment.

‘I'm glad to see you smiling like that, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘I was afraid you wouldn't find any pleasure in this trip.’

‘I feared it, too, but with you by my side, it's easier. Besides, there's something familiar about this place, I think.’

‘You're right,’ Merry said. ‘I like Minas Tirith very much, but there's something simpler here. I understand that it makes you more comfortable.’

‘Ah, but you’re all saying that to annoy me!’ exclaimed Pippin, jumping up and down on his bunk. ‘Hold on, Frodo, until you see the white city! There's a library there that you can't even dream of.’

‘I forgot that you were a little soldier of Gondor,’ said Sam to tease him.

‘Little? I'm taller than you, Sam Gamgee!’

‘Because of the magic of the Ents, otherwise…’

‘Otherwise what? Even without it I could knock you down if we had to fight!’

‘Pippin!’ exclaimed Frodo, who didn't know whether to be offended or amused by their quarrel.

‘Oh yes?’ Sam added with bravado. ‘I've had my share of fights with the lads back in the days. And, with all due respect, I'm not sure a highborn Hobbit like you has had much opportunity for brawling! Even as tall as you are now, I'm sure I can beat you!’

‘Sam!’ cried Frodo, genuinely amused and a little scandalised.

‘Fight! Fight!’ Merry chanted, clapping his hands.

‘Don't encourage them, for goodness's sake!’

‘We're not going to deprive Sam of a chance to show off in front of you,’ replied Merry with a wink.

Frodo turned bright red. Merry burst out laughing.

‘Very well, Mr. Gamgee,’ said Pippin with fake haughtiness and rolling up the sleeves of his nightshirt. ‘Let's see what your training is worth then.’

‘Gladly,’ replied Sam in the same tone.

Putting a hand before his mouth, Frodo giggled, stunned by his companion. Merry invited the two contestants to meet in the centre of the room. Taking the role of referee, he stood between them and in a ceremonial tone made up a few rules:

‘No punching in the face, no biting and, of course, no hitting below the waist!’

‘You're not really going to fight, are you?’ asked Frodo, kneeling at the edge of his bunk, wide-eyed.

‘Gondor against Rohan, the battle of our Age,’ Merry declared with great flourish. On your marks, fight!’

‘Forth Eorlingas!’ Sam cried out.

‘For Gondor!’ cried Pippin.

And they threw themselves at each other in a tough but harmless brawl, where no real blow was struck. Each one tried different techniques to sweep his opponent's legs under him, and soon enough Sam had pinned Pippin to the ground. Pippin struggled like a devil, but with a rather clever arm lock, Sam helm him down.

‘A definite victory for Rohan,’ Merry said cheerfully.

Sam got up and helped Pippin to his feet, they shook hands, and Merry grabbed Sam's arm and raised it high.

‘All hail our winner!’

Frodo looked at him, his eyes bright and filled with awe.

‘Hmph,’ said Pippin, ‘there was no prize to win anyway.’

Merry released Sam's arm. Sam had met Frodo's gaze and, in a few strides, he reached him and grabbed him by the waist. Frodo giggle again, his cheeks very red. Sam lifted him up and kissed him on the lips, exhilarated by his victory and what he saw in Frodo's eyes. When he ended the kiss, he became aware of the amused presence of Merry and Pippin who were pretending to put their bunks back in order before going to sleep. He blushed fiercely and Frodo burst out laughing. Despite the enthusiasm of their improvised fight, all the Hobbits fell asleep soon afterwards.

They set off again two days after the banquet, not without having received many gifts from their hosts. Frodo was a little embarrassed by all the attention he was receiving, and Pippin pointed out to him that it was only fair after all he had been through. Yet he couldn't help but think it was unjustified, for it wasn't he who had destroyed the Ring, or fought in the great battles against Mordor! Sam objected, of course, and reminded Frodo that, without him, the Ring would never have approached the borders of Mordor. And if they were to honour the one who had really destroyed it, then they should all sing Gollum's praises, even though his good deed was an accident. This usually put an end to the discussion.

Their journey continued smoothly, with Gandalf leading the way most of the time. At one point, Frodo wanted to ride a little, and Merry traded his place in the wagon for his pony. To keep up with him, Sam swapped with Pippin, and the two Hobbits rode a bit ahead with their mounts, breaking the monotony of the wagon ride. When Frodo got tired, they took back their place in the carriage. In the evenings, as they stopped, Gandalf tried to fill in the gaps in the adventures that Merry and Pippin had told Frodo. Frodo, for his part, summed up without giving too many details what had happened to him during his long absence. The wizard tried not to show too much emotion, but it was obvious to all the Hobbits that he was deeply moved by what Frodo had endured. He approved of the idea of petitioning the king to put an end to the exactions of the entertainers who were turning suffering into a show.

A short week passed before they finally saw the city of Minas Tirith in the distance, like the bow of a monumental ship. Gandalf, who led the group, slowed the pace slightly so that Frodo could enjoy it. He could hardly believe his eyes: he only knew the splendour of the city through the descriptions and illustrations he had found in Bilbo's books. This was nothing compared to seeing it with his own eyes. The closer they came, the smaller Frodo felt. He pressed himself a little closer to Sam, who was holding the reins, his face somber.

‘It's beautiful!’ Frodo whispered.

‘That it is, as beautiful as any ice palace…’

‘Sam !’ Frodo rebuffed him kindly, ‘give it a chance. The city must have changed a lot since you were last here. Especially with the new king!’

‘You're probably right. Still... it's time to do as you promised, right?’

‘I haven't forgotten my promise,’ he reassured him, ‘and then…’

He looked around to see if the others were out of earshot and leaned close to Sam's ear, putting one hand on his thigh.

‘If I ever forget, I think I can make it up to you.’

Sam turned bright red. Frodo burst out laughing.

Their entry into the city was magnificent: as they approached, a signal was given for soldiers and citizens of Gondor to line up along the paved streets. Women and children waved colourful banners and flowering sprigs, and from every corner of the city there were songs and cries of joy. The Ring-bearers, the destroyers of Evil, had returned! Frodo had tears in his eyes to see such fervour. Was it really for them — for him — that all this crowd had gathered? Sam, on the other hand, was trying to manoeuvre the wagon along the streets, taking advantage of his concentration to focus his attention on anything but the festivities. Even though they were celebrating Frodo's return, they reminded him too much of the honours he himself had received, while his grief seemed to have no end. As he turned a corner, he felt a pressure on his arm and saw that Frodo had clung to him, sensing his distress, no doubt. He smiled faintly at him.

After passing through all the circles that made up the defences of Minas Tirith, the small group finally arrived at the top of the citadel, on a large plaza in the middle of which a white and blooming tree was guarded by soldiers in black and silver livery, and whose winged helmets glistened in the sun. There, other citizens were gathered, and Frodo guessed from their outfits that both important and humble people were assembled. But soon his gaze turned to the great doors of the palace, before which stood two familiar figures.  
Gandalf stopped their small convoy and invited Frodo and Sam to get off their seats. Merry and Pippin also dismounted, but stayed behind their companions. With a gentle push on his back, the wizard told Frodo to move forward without fear. Squeezing Sam's hand very tightly, his heart pounding, he advanced until he was facing King Aragorn and lady Arwen. Unable to speak, he wanted to bow, but to his great surprise, the two highnesses went down on one knee. Around them, the crowd did the same, and even Gandalf bowed respectfully. Only the four Hobbits were left standing. A little way behind him, Frodo heard Pippin whispering through his teeth:

‘Oh, not again.’

He suppressed an amused smile.


	15. The hero

Their reunion with Aragorn was a little too formal for Frodo's taste, but there was no way around it. After being greeted by the king, his lady, and the entire court, the Hobbits were welcomed inside the great hall of the citadel where long tables were being set up for the banquet that would later be given in their honour. Although the tables took up most of the space in the room, Frodo was impressed by the size of the hall. Clutching Sam's hand, he looked around at the black and white marble columns and the statues of the kings who had reigned before Aragorn. But the small company did not linger in the great hall; the king led them through corridors to what looked like private chambers where they could sit together, free from the curious glances of the courtiers and servants who were preparing the coming festivities.

‘Frodo,’ said Aragorn as he approached him and put one knee to the ground, ‘I can hardly believe that my eyes do not deceive me. And yet you are here!’

Without giving Frodo time to answer, he embraced him.

‘There would be so much to say about what we could have done to help you, but this is no time for that, my friend,’ he continued, stepping away from Frodo. ‘Do you forgive me?’

‘There is nothing to forgive, Aragorn,’ replied Frodo in a soft voice. ‘My presence should be proof of that.’

‘Yes, Lord Aragorn,’ Sam added. ‘We have come all this long way, and we have just recovered Mr. Frodo, if I may say so. We certainly aren’t here to blame you!’

‘Sam,’ said Aragorn, ‘you don't know how glad I am to see you smiling again. I trust you will be Frodo's guide during your stay?’

‘I'm afraid you'll have to knock Sam out if you want him to let go of Frodo,’ said Merry, laughing. ‘Don't try to talk to him in private, it would be a waste of your time!’

The small group laughed and then everyone settled into armchairs and couches. Aragorn himself brought refreshments and they exchanged news. The lady Arwen reported what she knew of Rivendell, of her correspondence with Lord Elrond, and what Frodo learned of Bilbo gave him great comfort. Bilbo was too tired to make the journey to Minas Tirith, but he hoped Frodo would visit him on his way back. The Hobbits were obviously delighted to make this detour.

‘I don't have the strength to retell the ordeals of my long absence,’ Frodo said when the conversation became more serious. ‘Maybe Gandalf will be kind enough to give you a summary, or Merry or Pippin. But I must tell you a part of what happened to me, for we have a request to make.’

‘There is not much I can refuse you,’ Aragorn admitted, ‘the debt the free people owe you is tremendous.’

‘I’ll give you some free people alright!’ Sam mumbled, gritting his teeth and squeezing Frodo’s hand.

Frodo smiled indulgently, touched to see him still so affected by his misadventure.

‘What do you mean, Master Gamgee?’ Arwen asked in a soft voice.

‘He means that in the name of this hard-won freedom, some people allow themselves dishonest acts, unworthy of your reign,’ replied Merry before Sam could speak. ‘Acts of vengeance are committed, sometimes to your glory, to amuse the crowds.’

‘We speak of these public entertainers,’ said Frodo, ‘who, under the pretence of giving justice, capture creatures — servants of the Enemy — and make them part of a show during which the villagers insult or throw stones at them.’

‘I have heard of this,’ said Aragorn in a reflective voice. ‘These performances are forbidden in the city.’

‘Well, you must forbid them wherever your power reaches!’ said Sam, leaping to his feet. ‘Some of those rascals have put Frodo through this torment!’

With eyes full of tears of anger, Sam realised that he had lost his temper — and in front of the king, no less! — and sat down beside Frodo, who took his arm.

‘You, Frodo?’ asked Aragorn, without understanding. ‘But why?’

‘Before I fell into their hands, I went through many trials that changed me. I was no longer, then, as you see me today. But it is not only for me that we ask justice. It is also for all those poor creatures who still suffer the humiliation and torture inflicted on them by those troops. If they have committed crimes, they must be judged fairly, not during those mock-trials.’

Aragorn listened carefully to Frodo. Under his calm appearance, one could tell that he was furious at those who had dared chain Frodo like a wild animal. But Frodo did not tell him anything, then, that could have helped identify and find his captors. None of the Hobbits went against his will.

When the whole affair was exposed, a servant came to escort the Hobbits to their assigned apartments. Two large rooms were reserved for them. Frodo and Sam occupied a room with a balcony facing east, overlooking the mountain range that delimited the land of Mordor.

‘This won’t do at all,’ said Sam, frowning. ‘I'm not one to complain, and you know it, but I'll ask this servant to find us something else. Even a cupboard would be better than having to watch the sun rise on those cursed mountains every morning.’

He was about to leave the room when Frodo took his hand and stopped him.

‘Sam, please. Take a look.’

He dragged him onto the balcony and came to stand just behind him, arms wrapped around his chest, his chin resting on his shoulder, forcing Sam to look at the horizon.

‘Yes, it's the same mountains that made us suffer so much. But don't you see how they've changed? Only a few years have passed, and yet the sky over Mordor now looks the same as in the Shire.’

‘Frodo.’

‘This landscape brings back many painful memories for me too, but I see also and most of all what is different now.’

Sam was silent. Frodo felt him tremble against him. Very gently, he let him turn around, turning his back to the mountain. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

‘Oh, Frodo, what you say is true, I can see what the world has become, what we've accomplished and all that. But for so long I thought you could never enjoy it! You can't imagine the pain it was, thinking you were lost forever.’

‘Sam... Can't you try and share with me the wonder of this second chance we’ve been given? True, it doesn't make our wounds go away entirely, but I hope it will heal them.’

‘You're right, Mr. Frodo, I haven't suffered a tenth of what you've suffered. I shouldn't complain like that.’

‘That is not what I mean, Sam. Come on, come and lie down with me before they come and fetch us for the festivities. I don't want to talk about this anymore and I want to show you that we have something to be happy about.’

Sam blushed and Frodo laughed. He dragged Sam with him to one of the two large beds that occupied the room. He took off his jacket and lay down, delighted to feel the softness of the mattress under him. With a gesture he told Sam to join him, and soon he was holding Frodo tightly and cuddling up against him.

‘I'm not going to run away, Sam, there's no need to squeeze me like that!’

‘Oh, forgive me! But it's the only thing that makes me feel better, I'm afraid. And I fear I won't be able to sleep a wink in here. I'm that worried I’ll wake up without you.’

‘I promise I won't get up without telling you. And if I have to go to the privy in the middle of the night,’ continued Frodo, laughing, ‘too bad for you, I’ll wake you up!’

‘I'd be upset if you didn’t,’ answered Sam earnestly.

‘Come on, get some rest, then we'll have to get all dressed up…’

The two Hobbits closed their eyes for a few moments. When a servant came knocking at their door to inform them that the banquet was about to begin, they were still asleep.

The festivities given in honour of Frodo were magnificent... Once again, he was granted the privilege of sitting next to the king. On the high table, the most prestigious guests — and especially those dearest to Lord Aragorn — were gathered. The four Hobbits and Gandalf, Lord Faramir and lady Eowyn who had travelled from their residence in Ithilien for the occasion, but also the now inseparable companions, Legolas and Gimli, where there. When Frodo saw them, he was overjoyed. They told him about the adventures they had had after the War of the Ring, and amazed the Hobbit with their stories of unknown creatures and acts of bravery.

Throughout the banquet, Sam never stopped holding Frodo's hand, seeking his comfort and support amidst the conversation and music that filled the great hall with joyful sounds. Frodo would throw him reassuring smiles and share with him food he didn't know and whose flavour intrigued him. Before the servants brought the sweet dishes, a bard sang of the Hobbits' exploits, with special emphasis on Frodo's adventures. The audience wept as he recounted the story of Shelob's sting and Sam's grief, and rejoiced when the singer invented some great deed to fill in what he didn't know about the three years before Frodo's return. Frodo blushed and laughed heartily, amused to be given such prowess when all he had done was drag himself from Mordor to his home in a series of misadventures. Even Sam smiled as he listened to the musician sing.

The many reunions, the rich food and the music soon got the better of Frodo. As the tables were pushed away to make room for the dancing, he apologised to the king and made for his apartments, followed closely by Sam. As they were about to leave the hall, they were caught up by Merry, who tried to convince them to stay for a few dances, but Frodo was determined to end the festivities there.

‘But, if you want to go and dance, Sam, don't hold back on my account. I assure you I won't disappear.’

‘If I can't dance with you, I don't really see any point in staying,’ Sam said blushing.

‘Are you sure?’

Sam nodded firmly and Frodo didn't insist. Once in their chamber, Frodo went to the small bathroom to wash his face and empty his bladder which had be sorely tested by the beer and wine from the banquet. He put on a nightshirt and invited Sam to take his place while he stoked the fire. When Sam came out of the bathroom, Frodo took his hand.

‘I hate the idea that you can't enjoy yourself because of me,’ he said.

‘But you know I couldn't have any fun here without you.’

‘Haven’t you made your peace with the city, now that we've gathered here with all our friends under such happy circumstances?’

‘Not yet, I fear. But I don't want to spoil your good mood, so let's not talk about it.’

Frodo smiled and nodded. Getting closer to Sam, he put an arm around his waist and began to hum a tune.

‘Will you grant me this dance, Master Gamgee?’ he asked with bright eyes.

‘This one and all the dances you want,’ Sam whispered.

Frodo resumed his humming, and they started spinning about the room, their steps slow and somewhat awkward, twirling in their nightshirts which were turning orange and blue with the glow of the fire and moonlight.  
Later on, there would resonate an entirely different music. A melody of short breaths, soft rustling of sheets and creaking of bed frame. It would be an entirely different dance. A dance of naked bodies pressed together, of pale fingers with their renewed strength clinging to golden skin. It would be the contradance of a arching back glowing in the moonlight while, underneath, erect and proud, throbbing flesh would slip gently into intimate warmth. It would be the ballet of hips swaying back and forth to the rhythm of pulsing blood.  
But for now, the Hobbits were dancing, their gaze lost in each other, their minds filled with love and happiness, their lips stretched into the same smile and joining in a kiss. The shadows of the night no longer seemed able to reach them; no evil would have dared interrupt the sweetness of that moment. Behind them, through the window, lay the dark range of the mountains of Mordor, and in the stillness of that moment it looked like a long ribbon of black lace. The fire crackled in the fireplace. A night bird sang softly. Frodo and Sam were dancing.


	16. Epilogue

Several months had passed since their departure when Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin returned to the Shire. They had spent almost three weeks in Minas Tirith, advising King Aragorn on the matter of the jesters. A small patrol had been sent to search for the mithril shirt and had returned it to Frodo, who was very moved. Following the trail of the merchant who had bought the shirt from the jesters, the troop had managed to get their hands on the rascals who had then begged for the forgiveness of both the king and Frodo himself. As a punishment, Aragorn had given them the responsibility of enforcing the law: if other groups of entertainers were caught exhibiting creatures as they had done, they would pay the consequences.

Frodo had spent a lot of time with Sam exploring the city, helping his companion make peace with a place that should no longer evoke mourning but joy. The inscription on the marble flagstone honouring Frodo had been changed. Beside his statue was added those of all the members of the Fellowship, in memory of their eternal friendship and to honour the sacrifices they had made to bring peace to Middle-earth. The four Hobbits had left shortly after the inauguration of the new statues, sad to have to leave their friends but glad to know that they were all healthy and happy.

The rest of their journey had taken them to Rivendell, where they had spent some time with Bilbo, much to the delight of Frodo and Bilbo himself. The days had been filled with songs, adventure-telling and food, which was enough to satisfy any Hobbit. Frodo had found it difficult to leave his old cousin, but he knew he was in good hands and very happy among the elves. The journey home had seemed a little bitter after that.

But as they reached the borders of the Shire, the hearts of all the Hobbits swelled with joy. Frodo, in particular, found himself more eager than ever to return to Bag End. At last he was ready to go home.

However, the company made a first stop at Crickhollow where they met Fatty who welcomed them with his usual good mood.

‘Well, well, well! I knew it was a long way to Minas Tirith, but you took your time! At last, here you are again, and for good I hope this time?’

‘Don't worry, Fredegar,’ said Frodo softly, ‘the trip to Bag End will be the last I'll make for quite some time.’

‘Those are wise words. Sam, don't worry, I went to see your father several times. He's annoyed that you're still wandering around, but he's all right.’

‘If he's annoyed, it's a sign that he's all right.’ Merry joked.

Frodo and Sam stayed in Crickhollow for a few days to rest a little and also to pick up the things Frodo had moved there before he left for their great adventure and that he now wanted to take back to Bag End. They loaded the wagon and kissed their friends, promising they would visit each other soon.

The drive to Hobbiton was pleasant, especially in such a fair weather. They stopped at inns, preferring the comfort of a real bed to camping in the wilderness. On the way, they came across several travellers: farmers taking their cattle to market or merchants transporting their products from one hamlet to another.

‘We haven't seen anyone who might have recognised you yet,’ said Sam as they passed a group of young Hobbits on their way to work in the field. ‘Is it something that worries you, when you’ll have to announce your return?’

‘Not really, Sam. Besides, the people who matter most know about it. The others... well, we'll see what they have to say about it!’

‘I've got to tell you... maybe you’ll be displeased, but... there's someone I already told about your coming back. I'm sorry I didn't ask your permission.’

‘Who did you tell?’

‘Rosie Cotton, sir. It's just... when I broke off our engagement, I didn't have the heart to lie to her.’

‘And what did you tell her?’ Frodo asked, turning to Sam who kept his eyes on the road, his fingers clenched on the pony's reins.

‘That I couldn't love her, because I would always love you before anyone else. I had to tell her you were back, so she'd understand.’

Frodo didn't answer but came closer to Sam, putting his head on his shoulder.

‘I don't blame you, Sam. It was a secret that must have been hard to keep. And you were right to tell her the truth. Poor Rosie didn't deserve to have you making up stories for her. Oh, but, Sam, sometimes it's hard to believe that not so long ago I thought you were going to marry her.’

‘And I don't know when I'd have really done it, if you'd never come back. My Gaffer was pretty upset that I went back on my word. But it's true, it all seems far away already. As if all these years without you were just a bad dream that's finally fading away!’

Frodo kissed his cheek and Sam smiled at him. There was a comfortable silence between them, the landscape slowly passing by, all rolling hills and green pastures as only could be seen in the Shire. After a moment, Frodo said:

‘I know it's going to be hard, Sam, but if we're going to live together in Bag End, you're going to have to stop with the formalities.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Calling me ‘mister’ and ‘sir.’’

‘I almost never say ‘sir’ anymore,’ Sam blushed. ‘As for the rest... I'm willing to try, but only when it's just the two of us.’

‘Mm,’ Frodo nodded and smiled. ‘I can think of a few occasions when it's just the two of us that would be a perfect time to try.’

‘Frodo!’

Frodo burst out laughing.

When they finally arrived in Hobbiton, the sun was just beginning to decline. The first Hobbit they passed was none other than Jolly Cotton.

‘Sam!’ he said, smiling. ‘Well, when you say you go away for a few days you take it quite seriously! And who’s this you’re bringing back with you now?’

His face turned pale when he recognised Frodo. Frodo greeted Jolly politely.

‘Goodness, when you said you wouldn't be alone in Bag End anymore, you weren't kidding, either. Forgive me, Mr. Frodo, but well... I believe I’m seeing a ghost.’

‘Jolly!’ Sam exclaimed.

‘It's nothing Sam, Wilcome's quite right, I'm a revenant of sorts. But alive and well, I can assure you!’

‘Well, it's heartwarming to see you,’ said the young Hobbit, a little red now. ‘I understand, now, why Sam is finally smiling again.’

Frodo cast him a gentle look and Jolly greeted them politely before heading another way. A little further on, they met the Gaffer and Violet Grubbs who were returning from the village. The healer complimented Frodo on his newfound health and Frodo thanked her for her care. The Gaffer, touched to see the master of Bag End back on his feet, disguised his emotion behind the scolding he gave Sam for having gone away for so long and not even announcing his return. Frodo assured him that he was responsible for their long absence and invited his two benefactors to dinner, as soon as he had put his smial in order. This embarrassed the Gaffer a little, but he softened up.

They met a few more Hobbits who recognised Frodo and looked at him with round eyes. An old lady who had known Bilbo and Frodo well bacon the days even took his hand to make sure he was not a mirage. Frodo felt very moved by this.

When they finally arrived at Bag End, Sam stopped the cart and helped Frodo down, his hands clasping tightly around his waist. Frodo let out a delighted giggle as he put his feet down when he heard a small voice behind them.

‘Sam?’

The two Hobbits turned around and came face to face with Rosie Cotton, blushing and confused.

‘Mr. Frodo,’ she said, bowing politely, ‘forgive my intrusion, I saw the carriage and thought Mr. Fredegar had returned…’

She paused and blushed some more.

‘It's all right, miss Cotton,’ replied Frodo, smiling. ‘You haven't even reached the mailbox, there's no reason to apologise. Besides, Bag End is open to Sam's friends as well as mine.’

‘That's very kind of you, Mr. Frodo. I'm glad to see you in such good health. Well, good day to you, and to you, too, Sam.’

‘Good day, Rose,’ said the Hobbits in unison.

She smiled.

As she walked away, Sam and Frodo exchanged a surprised look before they began to laugh.

‘Fatty, you little rascal!’ Frodo exclaimed, catching his breath. ‘There's a Hobbit who didn't waste his time when coming to visit the Gaffer. »

Sam laughed again and hugged Frodo.

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘that wagon isn't going to unload itself. And by the way, maybe I should ask Jolly Cotton to take it back to Crickhollow, he probably won't make the trip alone.’

‘Poor Jolly,’ said Frodo, ‘you would have him play matchmaker.’

Together, Sam and Frodo transferred the stuff from the wagon to the smial and then drove the pony to the stable where they stored the vehicle until they could return it. Hand in hand, they walked up to the front porch of Bag End, in front of the green door, enjoying the view as the sun set over the village. They stayed there for a moment, admiring the landscape and breathing in the evening air, which was turning fresh and heavy with dew. Finally, Frodo turned to Sam, kissed his cheek and sighed with content.

‘Well, let's get home,’ he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading!  
> This fic has been on my heart for more than fifteen years now, having written a first version of it when I was but a young girl. Now, after having re-written it, I'm delighted to see that it has found a small audience ;)  
> Sam and Frodo are an important part of who I am now, as a person as well as a writer, for even in my published work you can find them still, hidden beneath the surface of my characters!  
> That's why sharing this fic with other Frodo/Sam lovers is so very precious to me, and I hope this story will keep on living on its own now!
> 
> Thank you again every one of you for reading, commenting, leaving kudos or sharing this around, you make my heart swell with gratitude!
> 
> The road goes ever on…  
> Anwise


End file.
